book smart // c. parayko

Chapter 8

When I got home, I curled up in the bay window.

It was something I had done as a child with my dogs. Now it was just me, my book, and a spiked hot chocolate.

I thought about writing. This is prime poetry content.

But when I pulled out my beat up old journal, nothing's going from my brain to the paper.

"Isn't it a little early to break out the rumple minze?" My roommate laughed as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

"I slept with Colton last night."