xcrpt

Thoughts overwhelm me, presented with things I am unsure of. Blurry faces that I may have known at some point. And now I am seven years old with grass-stained knees. This is a memory. This is something familiar. I’m steaming mad because I buried an acorn in the front yard, thinking that an oak tree would spring from the ground, and my mom told me that it wouldn’t. She said that you can’t just stick something in dirt and expect it to grow. Trees are delicate. I give up and forget about my oak tree. Reality wakens me again. There is a photo on the wall of a beautiful girl. She wears an expression of pride, but with eyes that reveal her uncertainty. Only it can’t be a photograph because she’s moving. She turns her head and her hair drapes her eyes… and then she tilts her head back and smiles a shy smile. And I am no longer sure whether I am awake or asleep…