sleep deprived scrawls

I vaguely remember writing it- not sure when, or why.

It had to be important.

It hid under my sleeve at school. I didn't speak to my friends much.

I ignored it, mostly.

There was a speaker on my backseat when I threw my backpack in.

After the drive to school, there was a speaker and a rose-

a very old, very dead rose

on my backseat when I pulled my backpack out.

I didn't speak to my friends much. I didn't think about the dead rose.

I ignored the writing on my arm, mostly.

I pulled off my sweater when I got home. It was too hot for a sweater.

I had my ToDo list on my palm, my schedule on the back of my hand. On my thigh there were encouraging phrases, my desperate attempts to motivate myself into finishing my homework the night before.

And of course, on the inside of my forearm, it lay, nearly faded, neatly scrawled.

"Sometimes My Textbook refers to Dead Philosophers in the Present Tense"

It must've been important, it lay there hidden.

I hadn't spoken very much to my friends.

Strange, it wasn't written in my handwriting.