Sandy’s Blog

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outside my window, the snow lies in drifts of blue and white. peaceful and soft as it is hard and unyielding. but it cannot fill the void in my heart. blood and strips of flesh. wistful. fading. in this dusty backwater of the library- old books, seemingly forgotten, yet remembered as my fingers now trace its leaves. it’s comforting to be able to hide in this tiny corner that I can call mine, with a study carrel that’s my own. and a sweet lull of warmth washes over me as i open a book to read- milan kundera, gabriel garcia marquez, masuji ibuse, sartre- the storm is but an echo now. obscured behind my heavy eyelids as i sucuumb to the sands of sleep. i don’t ever want to leave. i don’t want to come back. not here. not now.

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