There was something about murder mysteries should couldn't explain. She wanted to solve them, but even the unsolved ones she found settling. Like she could solve them. There could be an explanation, and she could find it. A long time when she used to talk about going to school she drink coffee and map out the murders. She would always think, like they never talked to this person, or why didn't they follow up with her. There were clear leads. She never showed this to anyone.
Like a year ago she found it, all her notes and that, she had them in a binder. She got them together, and flipped through them, then just tossed them in the trash.
She felt like she didn't know the person back then, or it wasn't her now so it didn't matter what she did with them. When she told her roommate she said "Ahh, you didn't have to do that. We have plenty of space." And she looked at her with these eyes that said poor thing.
She couldn't explain how she felt to her roommate all the time, she wouldn't get it.
This morning she was thinking about this binder, and wondered if she might start that again, an old part of her woke up.
Like a year ago she found it, all her notes and that, she had them in a binder. She got them together, and flipped through them, then just tossed them in the trash.
She felt like she didn't know the person back then, or it wasn't her now so it didn't matter what she did with them. When she told her roommate she said "Ahh, you didn't have to do that. We have plenty of space." And she looked at her with these eyes that said poor thing.
She couldn't explain how she felt to her roommate all the time, she wouldn't get it.
This morning she was thinking about this binder, and wondered if she might start that again, an old part of her woke up.