{-13hours for accurate posting time, Canada}

I realize that I am my life's narrator.

When I'm walking back, or when I'm anywhere alone, a voice comes up inside me and narrates everything as though I'm writing about the character me.

Like, it's cold. She huffs through the snow wondering why on earth she can never make it on time.

There're snowflakes in her hair and they look pretty. White on black. Only she's full of gray.

She feels the space in the new shoes and wished she bought a smaller size. Now her boots sloshes around in wet slushie snow and she can't walk properly because she's afraid her foot might come up without the shoe at the next step.

Or, she walks back alone in the night. The parking lot is deserted and quiet. She looks at the ground. Every step she takes makes the ground glitter. She wonders if she's just tired, or maybe someone had open a giant tube of glitter powder and splashed it on the ground.


Sometimes it drives me crazy. I wish sometimes that voice will just shut up and stop narrating every damned thing I see.