It was the day before yesterday. I remember clearly because I wore the shirt I disliked. I remember strutting down the hall with my hands in my pocket, feigning confidence which was already lost in that shirt. I saw him; albeit for a split second. But there’s no mistaking it was him. His brief statue darted down the stairs and I was caught in my tracks. I exhaled the air I wasn’t aware I was holding. Something about him sent creep waves my way. Not only mine as I turned to see a woman and her son retreating from his way. Read more
Dear Diary,
Dainty M. 