XXXII | Someone’s Face

❦

I decide
that

I'm going to

ignore Tammie

for the rest of today.
For the whole week.
Forever.

I don't need her around.

She's toxic.

She's a bully.

She's a liar.

Even if I knew her before,
there's no reason

why that should matter now.

I go to the study.

I'll play some games on the computer.

(The others are fools
to give up on the
only device with Internet,
the best invention ever.)

But I step into the room

and immediately think of us playing

hangman

with pages torn from books, pens
with giant nibs meant for kids.

Stupid

idiot

memories.

I want to slam a door

(but this room has no door).

So I visit
the room opposite.

The storage

for all things artsy:
brushes, canvases, paints.

I bend down
and examine the nearest bottle of paint.

I recognise the brand,
the colour too—

an ambiguous shade
of blue or green—

that I once used

to paint over
someone's face.

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