Through Your Notes

Monday

Monday

11 a.m.

“Hey, Klara.” She greets.

I smile. “Hi, Annie.”

“Are you coming over to my mum’s dinner banquet this Friday?” She asks.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Oh.” She fake smiles. “It’s all right then.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She replies and walks off.

12.30 p.m.

“She’s such a bitch.” She whispers. I can hear her. She doesn’t realise I am behind her. “She thinks she’s too rich to attend my mum’s event tomorrow. Why are we even friends with her, Teera?”

“She’s rich.” Teera whispers back. “We need her.”

“Right…” She whispers back. “I can’t stand her, though.”

I walk past her and sit at our usual table. Everyone thinks we are best friends.

“Are you okay?” Teera asks.

“I’m perfect.” I fake a smile.

   I’m not fine. This Friday is my dad’s death anniversary.

8.45 p.m.

 When I’m at the park, I sit on the bench that faces the lake.

 I hold onto my pen. I write a poem.

9.30 p.m.

  I keep my pen in my bag. I walk over to the bulletin board prepared to share amazing works. I share my poems and my sketches. I share them every day. Without fail.

I stand before the board and my eyes scan the board. I smile. Some works inspire me. The drawings are beautiful. The quotes are beautiful.

I search for my poem I put up yesterday. There’s a yellow post-it note pasted at the corner of my poem. It says:

HI

I smile at it. I take down my yesterday’s poem. I replace it with the new one.

I head home.