Why Can't We Make This Darkness Feel Like Home

While Your Dreams Are Sleeping Quiet

Addison paced the house, nervous. Every few minutes she would glance at the clock.

4:53.

"Dammit," she mumbled. She knew they wouldn't be at her house at exactly five, but she hoped they would arrive soon. She pulled a carton of strawberries out of the fridge and walked back to the living room. She flipped through the pages of her book as she ate, trying to find where she had left off. She felt a bit of strawberry juice dribble down her chin and she stood up. She walked to the kitchen and returned the strawberries to the fridge before washing her hands and face.

4:58.

She chewed on her lower lip nervously, grabbing her suitcase and pulling it to the front porch. She played with a loose string on her shirt absentmindedly, waiting. She thought she heard a bus and looked up, smiling. Her smile faded when she realized it was just a dump truck. She groaned and stood up, walking to the front lawn. She laid out, watching the clouds as she waited.
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Kind of short, I'm sorry.

Comments = Intense.

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