A Place on My Pillow

Pollyanna wouldn’t say she was an extremely unlucky girl. No, she would say that luck just hadn’t happened to shine on her recently. She would say that her luck would come back around. She didn’t believe in Murphy’s Law, even though she should’ve. It was merely a rough time in her life, one that was considerably longer than most. She had Otto. She had her camera. Sure, she had no home. She had no family. She had no friends. She had no job, or prospects. But she had what she had. What more could she really want? I mean, sure, a roof over her head every night would be nice. And yeah, a nice warm meal, a hot shower and the consistent comfort of being safe would be heaven. But you can’t complain about all these things. Not when you can’t do anything about it.

At least, that’s what Pollyanna’s mother taught her all those years ago.

But, we don’t talk about that.

No, those are years lost to Polly.

Those years contain a Polly that Polly would rather lose.