or when your teeth hurt, your voice aches, and your 'social' mode has run out.
i stared out the truck window at the waffle house across the intersection. lights flashed and were gone soon enough. my head hurt from the excessive work i had taken up, work which was not centered my my brain, but just a bit lower, in my throat and chest.
the day had flown by in a series of warmups, polishing of music, and breaks. the memory of a warm wintry light burning into my back during lunch with all of my choral comrades was still fresh in my mind.
i had tried to be brave in auditioning for the solo, but my attempts have always been in vain. there was always someone better, someone more confident than me, someone whose voice didn't break into a million pieces because of anxiety.
that was not ever me, but the girl who got it was kind and funny and had a million things i didn't.
i'll stop here. she's probably just as complex as me.
YOU ARE READING
Smart Girl
Non-Fictionthoughts from the smart girl. //the journal of wren// //highest rank #2 in non fiction// //all names of real people interacted with here are altered from their original versions for privacy's sake//
