by Monica A., 15
It’s 9:35 in the morning and I roll out of my bed to reach for my laptop. This morning isn’t any different than yesterday, the day before, and so on. It’s so cold in my apartment because I left the window open last night. I like to hear the cars pass by as I’m sleeping. I guess it’s kind of a therapy for me.
I open up a blank page on google docs so that I can type on it. I wonder if you’ll ever stumble upon one of my books in Barnes and Noble and find your name in it. The book about the boy who was so mysterious and captivating. As soon as you read the first page, you’ll drop the book and burst into tears.
An elder woman named Beatrice that happens to live in the same apartment building as you sees you on the ground and asks if you’re okay. Did you know that she worries about you? She calls me all the time asking if I’ve heard from you and I instantly say no. You always tell her you’re fine, but on the inside you’re completely shattered just like I was just a few years ago.
As you flip through all the pages, you’ll read through moments that you thought you forgot about. The truth is, you never forgot them, they were buried so deep in your heart that you began to believe that they were fictional stories. You can’t believe that all these thoughts are coming at you all at once. You’re just laying there on the ground, curled up into a ball until a little girl comes to help you up. You’ll thank her and smile at her dad as they walk away.
That’s when it’ll hit you
that you miss my presence
and my orange cat
that you can’t even remember the name of.
Red Bank, New Jersey
Bridge Ink 