Undated

A story from my journal, under a scattering of deep purple dried flower petals from a beautiful dead flower I picked off the ground on my walk home from school, lay a scrawl of bright blue ink piercing the pages and so blue it almost mimicked the gradients of the dark purple petals that covered it. Dusting the 6 petals to the crease of the binder, the story read:

The light smell of kimchi from her black lunch bag wafted through the air.

"I think I can smell your lunch," I said.

"I think it's the salad," she replied.

She placed her lunch bag on the floor. The smell disappeared. And so did she.

Under the story, a carefully printed unfinished plan wrote

4-5: go holland v.