You're walking. Everyone staring at you like you're a suspect for murder. You clutched through the strap of your bag pack and pretended you didn't see them looking at you.
You just hopped on the bus and everybody's looking at you like you're naked. You pull the hem of your shirt as if it'll cover your whole body. As if it'll keep you alive.
You got through the grocery store and lined up patiently at the cashier's lane.
She's eyeing you up and down, judging why you wore gray sweatshirt over your brown pants. She looked at you and you gulped, thinking you should have worn the skinny gray jeans instead.
You called out a cab to go home and he's driving agonizingly slow --would always end up losing his way. And you're shifting in your seat checking if the leather under you is burning because it feels like it.
You arrived home and your bedsheets felt safer than ever. And within those thirty minutes that you're out, you wondered how one word is enough to describe everything --anxiety.
09:55
YOU ARE READING
anx·i·e·ty
Randomyou were six and you're never good enough. you do this wrong, you did that right -but not quite. you were six. and you're never good enough. you're thirteen and ain't smart enough. you can't pronounce faux pas properly. you cannot derive formulas...
