Chicken Little

by Natalie Robin

I spend most of my time in my room. The recent construction out on the street is shaking the framework of my solitude. I think of inevitable earthquakes and know if I am in this room it will fall on top of me. I’ve never had anything fall on top of me except my heart that one time. I learned then that if you forfeit yourself for love, you’re doing it wrong. I did it wrong, yet I can’t be mad at myself now that I’m here. It’s no more my fault than the color of my own eyes. Earthquakes and Love are nobody’s fault. They are also the same.

Advertisements