Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Marie

Seen on the Purple Line to Linden at about 9 a.m.

I don’t like it when it snows. I feel like I get lost in it all—pale skin fading into the constant white, light blonde hair whipping around in the bluster. The summer is better. When the sun first tears through the clouds, it shines off my skin like it’s looking in a mirror. I become blinding bright. Difficult not to notice. As the warm days wear on, the sunlight sears my cheeks and arms and shoulders and makes me a little darker, a little more human.

My phone says it’s supposed to snow every day this week. What if I stopped coming to work? What if I stopped seeing my friends? Would they even notice? Would they see something familiar in every blizzard? Would they hear my voice in the gusts that rub their red ears raw?

Sorry I didn't post yesterday. I was representing my place of employment at the Loyola career fair. So that was kind of hilarious. I'm kind of ready for the winter to be over now. Sunshine on my skin would feel good.

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