stuck in her day-dream

I’m at my desk.  My laptop’s on it’s charger… and I’m writing.  It’s quite an unusual coincidence.  My headphones are on full blast in my ears.  The world, outside, I’m tuning out.  Ed Sheeran sings softly.  Full Volume.  But softly.  I can hear my breath in my head, gently in a sort of rhythm that kept to the gentle pace of the song.  A door slams shut, cutting a breath short.  I fidget with the dust on the bottom of my desk lamp.  Brushing it into a small clump in the center of my blue desk, I proceeded to drop it into the trash bin.  My attention shifts towards my, phone, lighting up and chiming with the sound of an incoming text.  I can feel my face light up, matching my phone’s enthusiasm.  My gaze drifts to the photographs of Sara, Billy and I,  Hayden and I, George playing agility, all that hung behind my desk.  a feeling of longing overcame me as I opened the text.

It does not do well to dwell on the past.  In fact, it’s not good at all to wonder what could have been, or would have been if things had worked out differently.  It’d probably save  lot of heartache.

My unrest led me to fiddle with a paper clip, bending it appart, stretching it out. It was open.  Changed.  Bent out of shape – but not broken.  The lamp light reflected off of it, casting a yellow glow back towards me.  My hands worked to shape the paper clip back to it’s original form. Crinkling my nose in frustration I could see that it wasn’t going to go back. What was done, was done.  As much as I could have tried, the paper clip was never going back to the way it was.

And nor was I.

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