sepia

it’s that sepia, again.

 

has the world tilted again?

 

the fog is back and I am setting fingertips to keys like I understand what’s coming out of my brain.

 

the air is pastel mist and I breathe it in, drink it even- this time the sepia does not scare me.

 

I know it.

 

it’s different somehow, the thick, chokehold cloying on my skin.

 

 

It’s seven forty-five in the morning. The man walks down the street. He’s bespectacled and looks about forty. A dark chocolate-brown messenger bag hangs over his right shoulder. The two kids grasping his hands are energetic. They’re wearing preschool uniforms and matching cartoon backpacks. Their bright white sneakers jump and skip. The man looks tired to the bone, eyes bleary, posture sagged. His scuffed black leather shoes drag every other step.

 

I’m walking the opposite direction as him, against his paces, and I didn’t mean for it to happen, but our eyes met. In that moment, I felt my heart stutter and my world tilt. I stopped in my tracks. His fatigue had seeped into me. I felt the weight of unexperienced years pile onto my shoulders. My mind honed in, focused on that one feeling; the feeling of someone else’s consciousness imprinting on one’s own. His sad, sad eyes stuck in my mind.

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Published by

quirkyteal

writer/stylist/dreamer sophomore | lasalle college of the arts

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