Lingering in Grey
Last year—the halls hum softly,air thick with echoes of laughter,its warmth now coldagainst the walls.The floor creaks beneath my steps,a slow rhythm,as if the ground remembers–the weight of years pressing downmakes everything heavier. Seasons blend together,windows fogged with the blur of time.There’s no heat of summer,no crisp winter air—just a muted grey skythat clings to the air like fog,filling my lungswith a dampness I can’t shake.Time slips through my fingerslike dust,gritty and fine,dragging me forwardbut holding me back,all at once. I linger at the lockers,my fingers brushing the cool metal,trying to catch the scent of old papers,pencil shavings,eraser crumbs scattered on the floor.Every slam of a locker doorechoes in my chest,familiar yet distant,like something I’ve hearda hundred times beforebut only just remembered. The sharp ring of the bellcuts through the air,piercing,but fades as quickly as it comes,leaving only silence.It all blurs,the sounds, the smells, the touch—everything softeningat the edges,except for the achethat sharpens with each passing moment,holding onto me,as everything elsefades too soon,always too soon. By: Sophia Xia