she wonders if she has insight. if she can see herself the way other people see her. how do they see her? and why is that so important, suddenly? one should have some enemies, afterall. your enemies make you what you are. she scolds herself as she leaves the apartment on a day where the clouds have conquered space and toyed with the chastizing winds. she stuffs the sterile white earphones in her ears and music drums out all thought. she was late as usual and wondered if anything would ever make her not-late. morning traffic was effluent and the yellow walk man remained elusive. she tapped her foot and swayed her opulent hips impatiently to an infinitely patient world. irritatingly patient world. the green finally materialized and she headed across the street to class. her pulse flickered and she felt her heart pause with memory. the memory squeezing her heart. she wished she could kick memory out of her heart the way she could kick it out of her brain. the memory of the feeling of the presence of being there then, and then there.
she had many happy memories she wanted to remember but why they never surfaced was a mystery. was she depressed, she thought for a moment but buried that thought as she dwelled on the ghosts of an impassioned past. the doorman smiled as she opened the door herself and he eyed her frivolous shoes (and her calves). she tossed her hair and walked faster on her balanced heels. she was aware of throngs of people scurrying around her, some making eyecontact as they hurried towards some path they had to take. they all looked like they knew exactly what path they were taking. she squared her shoulders and pretended the same. that's what it's about anyway, she thought.