Something About Her

I smooth my hair back into my grasp as I reach for the rugged green ponytail holder limply hanging from my wrist. Securing it quickly, I suck in an immense amount of air and hold it there before I place my hands complacently on the home row. Wisps of air escape my lips like little brush strokes flying across my parted lips. I peek my eyes open slowly, and see the blinking curser on the word document. Write it down, Olivia. Everything will be okay once you write it down. I try to come up with a creative lead, but to no avail. The curser is still blinking, and it’s in rhythm with my heartbeat now. For both, regardless of their worth, are just waiting for the right juncture to start writing it’s torturous tale. I am Olivia. Here is my story.