Tuesday, November 7th
She walked into the kitchen. She was wearing a sweatshirt with a hood that covered the top of her wet head. Her hair was usually a honey kissed brown but it looked black as she stood there, water dripping off the ends. It was the first time I had seen her without any makeup. Her skin was red and blotchy, and there was a hint of purple under her eyes. The left drawstring of her sweatshirt draped over the book she held close to her chest. I had never read it but I recognized the title; only because it was made into a movie, I hadn’t seen. She was looking at me expectantly–her eyes burning into mine, leaving a mark on me. But I still had no idea why she was there. For some reason I had just now realized the smell of pumpkin spice. My mother had lit a candle before she went out, and I grew increasingly self conscious of the feminine sent.