kaitlynanne
New Member
I’m sitting her alone in my room. The fan is blowing on my face, ready to make me pull my blanket tight around me in the middle of the night. Its not a bright light that is turned on my room, just a dim white snail lamp that cost me a whole paycheck last year. I look around my room through burning eyes. I haven’t taken out my contacts in seventy-two hours. What do I see in my room, you ask? I see laundry that needs to be done tomorrow night. For some reason there is my sleeping bag in the basket. Is it telling me that I need to go camping really soon? I might just listen to the speech my silent laundry basket is giving me. The next memory that my eye wanders to is pictures that cover walls of past friends, distant memories, and relatives that have passed away leaving everyone is tears. I see furniture that is stuck in place, too heavy to move. Bandanas hang from a candle holder in the shape of a cross that hangs on the light green wall, that is apart of the walls that box me in. Jewelry is in boxes, not that I wear any of it. To me, its just pieces of silver, gold, plastic, and metal that was money wasted. Money in a jar from customers that I scooped ice cream for. Duffel bags that will soon be packed for a trip sit on the floor in the one corner of this green room I call a living space. Heaps of scarves hang from curtain rods, waiting to be worn. Dressers full of clothes I never wear. A tie dyed purse layes thrown on the ground waiting to be picked up tomorrow morning. A vase with a flower arrangement placed in it, that was carried down the aisle at someone’s wedding. The bed that is too big for the small room sits right in the middle, on it is a sheet that never gets used, a stuffed frog that was given to me on my nineteenth birthday, and my gram’s quilt thrown over my stomach. Everything in this little room has a purpose and is a memory. I lay on my bed and thoughts of you swirl aimlessly around in the air above me. Even though the door of this room is open wide and the windows are being held open with screens the thoughts still stay cooped up in this room with me, consuming my mind. The thoughts of you and what we could have been leave me feeling claustrophobic. If only I didn’t fear the thought of being left alone, maybe my thoughts would leave through the window and be swept away by the wind in a beautiful tornado.