Seven
My legs are curled up in a blanket, my hands across my knees as I sit cuddled up on the patio. The wind breezes against my hair, smelling of salty sea air and the distant wafting of a bonfire somewhere up the beach. A journal, admittedly cheesy and little-kid-ish, but still a journal, is opened on the table. A blue pen resides in my palm, and creates flowing sentences on the lined paper.
Life is good.
A naïve statement, by yours truly. But if there was no-one to make naïve statements in this world, we would be a society of stone hard lunatics who ran around kicking puppies for fun.
I take that back. That was too harsh. My point is, we wouldn't say small, stupid things that made people smile.
I think too much.
YOU ARE READING
Hundred Words
Novela JuvenilSometimes, I hear people bustling around me, busy like school, but also organized and calm in the same instant. It is familiar, yet unknown, and that is what worries me. I feel rested and alert, but feel empty as if I hadn't eaten in weeks. I feel p...
