A flash of lightning fills up the window like an enraged eye peering into the room.
It's the same situation with the same actors, but I describe it quite differently depending on the person I'm talking to.
Before leaving the library I drop my backpack on the sofa by the exit and start to rearrange its contents. That's when I see him wave hello from the other end of the room. He comes over, we talk, and the tightness in my chest eases. Sometimes a friend is there at the exact right moment, just when you need friendship most but don't hope for it or think to ask.
The shape of the past few years resembles in some ways an inverted parabola, arcing up and then declining.
Until the decision is made, it's difficult to breathe.
The writing is ragged with indecision. A sluggish paragraph is cut through by a flash of insight all in capslocks, followed by a puddle of diluted thoughts that trickle off in ellipses.
I look like I'm getting somewhere, typing and rifling through papers, but it's only an illusion of progress. Over time I grow tired and start to sink.