My lids grow heavy and I remember the faint brush of your lips of when you used to kiss them while I dreamt. My eyes would roll back and forth under my lashes, and you found it endearing to know that I was with you, without being with you.
Anatomic observations. The veins under my skin cross at different times under mirrored appendages. It’s obvious my left hand requires more blood, with all the different routes available. My frame is light and slender and I want nothing more than to be of normal proportions. The back of my head is rounder than most, because as an infant, my mother laid me on my tummy. I wonder how it would be like if I were bald.
My professor in the summer course I’m taking, has a soft voice and a grandfatherly demeanor. He often smiles and chuckles, and shuffles back and forth. I drew a sketch of him —like I do most of my professors; and I hope one day to upload my compilation sketches.
Sometimes bad things happen to good people.