forty seven
“I have always felt different.” She had seen this before. She had felt like this one before. She had been in this exact scene once already. She had been five then. And it had all been too overwhelming. Now, she was older. She was better prepared. But more than anything else, she was certain she could do something this time. She found a notebook from her table. A notebook that was still new, still unopened, still empty. She could remember buying it months ago. She needed a new notebook for school. She had gone to the store, intending to buy one. She walked through the stationary store, found the notebook she needed, along with a box of pencils. She was old now, enough to be writing with pens. Still, she loved writing in pencil. At least when she was at home, and when it allowed for it
- Writer
