or when there are stitches in your jaw.
blisters filled with pus as i attempted to bang a hot piece of rebar into a leaf. my arm shook every time i lifted the hammer.
we watch doctor strange. we get lunch.
his mom and brother were there. any time they were, i lost the ability to speak, lost the ability to communicate beyond mumbles and shrugs and facial expressions.
my anxiety towered over me like an unstable mountain, menacing and threatening to shatter and collapse on top of me.
i couldn't wait to leave. i didn't like this boy and i definitely didn't like this inability to speak.
YOU ARE READING
Smart Girl
غير روائيthoughts from the smart girl. //the journal of wren// //highest rank #2 in non fiction// //all names of real people interacted with here are altered from their original versions for privacy's sake//
