23
Emma
I remember reading about pathetic fallacy in school and thinking it sounded silly, it could never happen in real life. How could weather—or a tree, or anything like that—imitate somebody’s mood? How could it represent how somebody felt? It was nonsense. But as the weather grows colder—California cold, anyhow—the rain more frequent—California frequent, anyhow—and the days shorter, my mood gets worse and worse. The worst part is that I’m not just sinking into a pit of despair. I’m digging a pit of despair for myself.
I just can’t stop thinking about it. The despair doesn’t spring from the fact that I’ve lost Judge, though that stabs at me like a knife, digs right deep into my chest and twists. It’s that I have absolute no memory of doing it, none at all. I’ve never taken drugs, no
