granola

The vacation is over, she ties her hair up, adjusts the chair and stares in a haze at the empty computer screen... 'welcome back to reality' it seams to scream at her condescendingly, as she tries to organize her divided thoughts at 2:07am. Where do the lines of fiction and reality really begin to blur?

The work piles up steadily on the side of the desk, mountains of textbooks that mock her intelligence because they somehow know she can only think about him. All concentration is lost. Maybe if she left, went out, got away for just a few minutes she could forget about him, and ignore the fact that it's his name displayed on the screen of her ringing cellphone. Why must he cut so smoothly into every aspect of her mind and paste himself between the cracks of her thoughts? ... almost like a recurring nightmare, only it's more like a dream that she's affraid will come true.


This is all too confusing, all too consuming...