I set her favorite lipstick on the desk in her room. I take my notebook and start writing, sending a note to her.
Everything is much cleaner than usual. Everything in the wrong place. No clothes on the floor, no pile of laundry in a hamper.
It's cold. Eerily cold.
Folding the note into a small square, I set it next to the lipstick. Her name is written on it in cursive.
One last time, I put the lipstick up to my lips.
Setting it back down, I leave her room. Her house. With the name of it resounding in my head.
Unknowing.
YOU ARE READING
The Magic of Unknowing
Teen FictionYou don't know what is happening in other people's minds until it's too late.
