The temperature is a perfect 74 degrees. the sun is just right in most areas of the city. the few clouds in the sky remind you that the blue is real and not painted on in one single stroke. Yet, why am I'm shuddering? Shuddering out of being cold. Or the thought of being cold? Goosebumps slowly form on my arms. palms are getting sweaty and sore. the soreness described as a unique phenomenon of your brain's inability to process a hurting heart. So the parallel neurons and sensors to the organ send signals from your heart to the brain that get interpreted as palms or arms hurting.
I am being a shutter. As in a person or thing that shuts. Other people out in this case. rather just one. I'm getting chills down my back and making myself sick to the stomach because in truth, I lied. I lied about it being OK. at the time, I didn't yet know what i really want. but i knew what I didn't want. I didn't want to be that person. i dont want to be the one to bend the pieces so they fit. Like they were meant for it. Because if they weren't made for it, then they weren't made for it.
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