By Heather Sager
She had a friend, but she was too depressed or anxious
to see him.
She was too twisted up, so she let years of friendship
slide into the gutter.
He was her favorite, and she couldn’t reach him. In fact,
she thought he hated her, didn’t care about her,
though that was not true. Not true at all.
Wind rattled the panes of her room’s window
one dark morning. She listened. Too depressed
and anxious, she couldn’t leave her house.
She is reading this right now.
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Heather Sager writes poetry and fiction. Lately, she writes to dream, or to hold up a mirror, or to share a feeling or interest.
thedrabble.wordpress.com 