Of My Moleskine Notebook

//Genre: Prose

She was awoken with the soft stirring and buzzing of an F.M radio. It was those belted out tunes that made her make her way down to the surface straight into
The Room . It was the restriction of choice that made her soul move and bustle to get to yet another place, for the future she did not know and did not own.

She felt fatigue.

Of orange juice and a chocolate coated pastry, she challenged time and left. The background of vibration? Conte Patiro , Mr Cole and a bit of Mr. Young. She felt guilt, she felt fatigue yet again. Theres so much in this world to live for, but I can’t think right.

Think of what? You’ll never know.

So the minutes and bits and clumps of chalk dust floated through. Laughter echoed across the compound of stray elements, trying to keep its own form. We are so young, why try to find ourselves now?

And so she left with her scholar trademark over a shoulder, and nothing but unseen sins and maybe deeds on the other. Its only existence is in the thoughts, and thoughts now are unpredicatable.

Then she saw you. Would you please listen Horatio? I saw my King’s dead spirit flying over my castle and I need you to talk to.

But you don’t hear her. You seem ignorant to the many Hamlets and Ophelias in this world.

You yourself had your scholar trademark, and your other shoulder looking seemingly fine. You turn to face her for a second, nothing out of the ordinary. Then you clutch your advanced mathematics textbook tighter.

Your wearing it like an accessory. Why, left your bonnet?

Truth is, I’ve never seen anyone look so good with numerals.