Wallpaper Whirlwind

She rarely speaks of it, but whenever she does, she breaks in the most heartfelt of ways. She’s a whirlwind, that one. When she speaks of her times at college, it pricks you like thorns; she cries uncontrollably when she speaks of memories so sweet that you can taste them on your tongue. She says she knows she made the right decision, of not going back, that she just really misses the place sometimes; the people, the experience. She says, through her tears and with a shy smile, each and every time, that she doesn’t regret it; she just knew she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, thrive.

From what I see, she knows plenty, and feels even a great deal more. She doesn’t casually talk about it; she only mentions it when the cracks become too fragile and she needs reassurance to cover them up like flowery wallpaper would. Non-metaphorically speaking, she hates flowery wallpaper. I think that says a lot.

And I think she does, in fact, regret it. She always does; not just the times she turns into a whirlwind. I’d say she regrets it more often than not, – after all, you can put up some wallpaper, but it doesn’t make the cracks go away, now does it? She still does not thrive, and I think that, although she knows she did not belong in that place, her lingering regret might be reminding her otherwise.

But what do I know? Maybe she does enjoy flowery wallpaper.


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