By Kara Killinger
I wish you could stay longer. I’ll never admit it, but I’d let you be here all the time if that was what you wanted. You could eat my canned peaches, drink my boxed wine, sleep in my bed, lounge on the couch over there, and just always be looking at me. I’d give you a key, even.
The thing is I’m alone all the time now. I hope in vain that the men who have hurt my friends know I’m avoiding them because they have hurt my friends. I hope in vain that the people I idolize know I’m avoiding them because they seem too beautiful to talk to. I know it all looks the same. They just see me looking down.
Trust me, I have tried painting. I have tried independence. I bought a film camera and started taking pictures of the sidewalk wherever the cracks make designs. I know good art doesn’t come from being able to tell someone about your day. I know it comes from a frustration so specific it can only be quenched by obsessive activities, writing two lines ten ways, playing the same chords until you get calluses on four fingers of your left hand.
But I hope that if you find you’d like to stay here, you tell me. Even if you’re too shy to say it, you could put a lot of feeling into a tap on the shoulder, or something in your voice when you ask what I’m doing after work could give you away.
Kara Killinger is a senior at Trinity University. She writes feature articles for Trinity’s student newspaper, the Trinitonian, and hosts The Telescope, a podcast highlighting young writers and their work.