different

Soft rays peek into the room, melting streaks of gold onto the wooden floor. Here, it is quiet, and it is safe. All the thoughts of yesterday and all the thoughts of tomorrow collide. Who I am, here and now, is different than who I was yesterday, though that girl often returns. She steps in quietly like a thief, dragging a suitcase into my room. She unzips it open, talking about the things I want to forget, reminding me of the things I still don’t have. At this point, I tend to shove her out. “I don’t need your ¿?, I Read More