Libby Lepellier
I took the last clean fork and the last clean spoon and ate the last of the Top Ramen on the last day of the week, the last day of school before vacation.
I took the last clean fork and the last clean spoon and ate the last of the Top Ramen on the last day of the week, the last day of school before vacation.
Time stood still when the radiologist told me about the tumor, but it's spent the last six months catching up.
At approximately 1:30 pm on Friday February 1, 2008, I realized that when you get to college they expect you to wear watches.
My cats and I slept through the afternoon with limbs askew like old forgotten puppets.
After just two months, I want to marry her but I still haven't even told her that I love her.
The work week seems to be a repeating blip that echoes a nasty scratch on the record of life.
For nineteen years, five hours and six minutes, I've loved a man I could never be with.