why do you?

Why does one write?
Once your number comes up, you cease brainstorming the infinite answers to this unquestion.
“Hello!” I shout to the empty classroom.
I am aware of the perimeters of my intentions; I have my phone in my hand; I have my keys in my left front pocket of my corduroys, the laminent hanging out with the neckpiece – a ritualistic ornament which psychologically reassures myself that it is safe to go home.
It is safe to let go.
It is safe to go on now.
Except for… my glasses…Darn


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s