descriptions and observations from the past week
Her hair was limp; her face was bare and too old for her body. Invariably she wore only black or near-black grey, and her clothes were loose but not baggy. Ready to flee at a moment's notice, she was a footsoldier of an unknown rebellion, a sad warrior woman. Behind the curtains of her hair dangled long, thin earrings, thrown on as an afterthought, as a useless attempt to disguise her true identity. They raged out from her earlobes; they cried out at their own incongruity. I couldn't take my eyes off their glint, hoping without reason that they were in fact bits of her blonde hair that I had mistaken for gold; every few seconds, I was proven wrong once again.
***
Academia is a curious phenomenon; it makes its disciples simultaneously so old and yet so young; aged with every newly acquired fact and yet revived by their desire for the next, in a strange cycle of functional immortality.
***
He keeps the cap for the dry erase marker stuck on his left index finger as he writes.
***
The girls on either side of me are wearing identical pairs of black low-top Converses; each has her far leg crossed towards me, and in both corners of my vision, symmetrical images of shoes bouncing on jittery legs. (I own a pair just like them, and am both disappointed and relieved that I did not wear them today.)
***
Academia is a curious phenomenon; it makes its disciples simultaneously so old and yet so young; aged with every newly acquired fact and yet revived by their desire for the next, in a strange cycle of functional immortality.
***
He keeps the cap for the dry erase marker stuck on his left index finger as he writes.
***
The girls on either side of me are wearing identical pairs of black low-top Converses; each has her far leg crossed towards me, and in both corners of my vision, symmetrical images of shoes bouncing on jittery legs. (I own a pair just like them, and am both disappointed and relieved that I did not wear them today.)