((link)): Lauraloveskatrina

Katrina reached out, took Laura’s hand, and turned it over. On Laura’s palm, still smudged from where she’d traced the carving, were the faint red remains of marker. From that first day. Or maybe from every day after.

Laura was accepted to a college three states away. She packed her room in cardboard boxes, erasing herself from the house where she’d grown up. On the last night, she walked to the oak tree behind the football field. The bark had grown over most of the carving, but she could still make out the K and the L , wound together like vines. lauraloveskatrina

Laura froze.

“What are you doing here?” Laura asked. Katrina reached out, took Laura’s hand, and turned it over

“Show me,” Katrina whispered.

So Laura did. She showed her the desk—still there, the red marker faded but legible. She showed her the mirror, the notebooks, the margins of her life. And then, standing in the shadow of the oak tree with the wind picking up the leaves around them, she showed her the only thing she’d never written down. Or maybe from every day after