snow

when i get to the office it’s the same recounts of dinner time conversation, the sighs over full instead of skim milk, the clicking of emails and forwards and text messages. a playground of awkward smiles and pretend birthday wishes. i can't see a window from where i sit. i wait for someone else to look at the clock before i do.

there is a drip by the side of my desk and i imagine it’s a knife. i move under it to stop from falling asleep. i dream of sky falling and covering my desk in soft, white snow.