His molten stare cuts me from across the table.

I try to stray my eyes away,

But he does not stop.

“Greta, what do you do with your life?” His taunting voice asks.

I get nervous.

“I read” I pause and think, “and bake, and—“ I cut myself off, feeling the crisis creeping up.

I have nothing to say to him.

I search and search for words, but can find none.

“That’s all you do?” He snarks.

“I- yeah?” I sputter out.

This conversation is going so bad.

I look over to my friend beside me, my eyes pleading for help.

Though, she finds no helplessness in my eyes.

“Greta, you’re such a boring person.” He says, completely honest.

He goes back to his work.

I pause and ponder his words.

Boring.

Boring.

I. Am. Boring.