Entry Seven: September 22, 2011
I’m sitting on a bench; a plastic-like, cold and dark bench. The scene around me is so dramatically depressing, journal. I am not the only one here who has set up permanent residence. Some homeless people here are older than my grandparents; some are ten years younger than me. An old woman sits on the bench beside me. She looks normal. I wouldn’t know, I swear, if I hadn’t also spent the night here, that her old bones used a bench for a bed. She collects things; abandoned pennies, old hats blown away from their owners, fallen bobby pins. It’s like she’s trying to collect a life she could have had, had things gone differently.
YOU ARE READING
Fall
RomanceThis isn't a typical love story. I didn't meet some boy and fall in love at first sight. In fact, I didn't fall in love with a boy at all. Or a girl. Not even a house plant. My name is Thalia Walker, and I fell in love with the world.
