Some nights the clouds
release more water than they should to drip down the sides of
my umbrella. The rain that pushes up from the ground swirls
around my heels and wets the hems of my jeans. I make a mental
note get them cleaned later. I don’t want to be reminded
of the streets I’m walking down at 4 am. The city never
sleeps, and neither do I. Work will be rough but this night, it
never happened. In the morning I will scrub it from my skin
until it’s burning and irritated. And if someone in the
office dare point out “You’ve got a bit of red on
your hand there,” I will smile surreptitiously, thumb it
away and say, “Just a scrape.”
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Emina1 · 9 years ago
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did you write this? It's really good