I wake up in the middle of the night. Sweat beeds condensing on my forehead, my heart still frantically beating in the aftershock. That's the most exhausting part; how an exact event, not a single detail altered, can horrify and paralyse you like nothing you've ever witnessed before.
I sink my head onto the pillow and wait lazily for the sleep to crawl back in. The next time I wake up, its morning. The sharp daylight is pouring into the congested room past the creamy curtains. I wait for the same old Tuesday with classes and extra classes, coffees and books to settle before getting out of bed.
I am one of those few college girls who has everything routined up. Even the few parties I go to, upon the insistence of my friends, I add them in my schedules a week ahead. So eventually nothing
