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"for a sad girl sitting on the steps of the library at 3:31 P.M. on a Wednesday"



Sad girl why are you so sad, what great horror awaits you on the other end of that cell phone? Why do you stare at its face so intently?

Is the answer there? Is an end there? Is the righteousness that you so need contained somewhere in the pixels on the face of that tiny tiny thing?

You look miserable, but perhaps I’m just viewing you through my own sense of unhappiness. Maybe you’re just tired or sick or bored, maybe this is nothing, this long look on your face, but maybe its everything, maybe you need something more than what he or she is giving you, maybe you need an anchor in this tumultuous sea known as the day to day, the grind, or whatever clever label others like me have slapped upon the normal boredom of this life.

We all suffer, sweet pretty thing, you aren’t alone.

I guarantee you that in this building alone there are probably tens or maybe a hundred other people with the same dark thoughts, the same draining anxiety, the same shitty prince or same demeaning mother that is causing your face to make those shapes.

I wonder. You press buttons on the face of that thing like its going to fix you, or fix him, or them, but more than likely life will roll on much the same as it’s rolled on for many, many years.

Babies cry, mothers hush, things that are simple turn complicated, seem insurmountable. Men die, politicians lie, and we all, all wish for something akin to heaven, on earth, after or otherwise. Killers kills, vultures clean up, everything turns to ashes and we all, fall, down.

But don’t despair, because one other thing rarely changes: humans forget what troubles them. :)

One day soon you’ll be back, smiling at the sun and thinking of those wonderful things that wait for you just around the bend. I wouldn’t cry, but I do, so I guess I would, but you certainly don’t need to (not a lot anyways) because things won’t stay dark for long.

But maybe…maybe you’re not sad.

Why do I think you’re sad?

Because of the simple, flat look you wear? Because of the slumping posture or the endless obsession with one material object?

Those aren’t definitive indicators, why do I feel this? Do I feel you? Can your angst touch me from across the room? I think so, because I often walk through clouds of this while moving from building to building across campus.

I feel the misery….but I also feel the joy.

I walk through a certain section, or a person walks by me, and all the sudden the light is lighter, the weight is lessened, and suddenly the world seems better.

Are these angels? (my atheist friends are laughing now) Or am I simply drafting on the vapors of someone else’s sunny moment.

I’m not for sure, because sometimes it happens when I’m alone, and no ones around.

I can’t account for it…perhaps this is the finger of God.

Perhaps in those moments he is looking down upon me and giving me the great gift of his joy.

A reset, perhaps, he’s steeling me again for the fray of frustration and callousness that is our day to day.

Or maybe God is dead, or never was, and that feeling, the one that get when I’m alone, the unaccounted for one…is just an accidental burst of dopamine, little receptors crossing synapses, out of control.

Which sounds prettier to you?
Which sounds more real?

What is better? For an idea to be pretty or real?

Answer that, and I think you just told me who you are, sad girl. Answer that, and I’ll know why, it is, you’re sad. :)