Fragments

Fragments of time show me who I am. Moments, unless, of course, I lose them also to the violent speed of things.

I am ‘me’ again, for this moment. Maybe it will last a while, if I’m lucky, this sensation of being me; it swirls around my life like shrapnel, though I wish it would hit and stay for good.

I borrowed Plath from the library, which surely means I’m doomed. I can barely say why I worried so much, just picking the book up off the shelf ( it’s such a horror to think of ) but something must have tipped her over the edge. It could have been a poetry book, you never know.

Too much cake is another thing. Donuts, to be specific. It seems like every time I venture to the shopping centre, there it is. The donut store, and that’s suddenly all I want. Where is the will power, I hear you ask, and I will tell you it disappeared with my innocence and pride a long time ago.

Sometimes you just need to write. It never needs to make sense, it just needs to announce something to the world, and that is what I have done. I have written and sent my energy forth.

Who will read this and care?

Do I read this and care?