Songster, not as sinister as they say, she's no monster, just admittedly a bit lost in her way. she caves as I'm walking down the hall.
I pick her up, off of that flooring, the rubbery kind, whatever it is, I guess it's rubber, but the kind that squeaks when you walk on it after coming in from the rain; to hell with poetry.
And so anyways I pick her up and sit her on this bench next to me and give her about five minutes to come to terms with breathing and pick shimmering auburn hair out of the tears smeared across her face, two, mesmerizing, perfectly blue wells the source of the streams. And then I ask her what that was all about and she blurts out that she
belongs in the Fine Arts Department, and her car broke down months ago but her father doesn't give a **** about it, because she can't lay up the basketball or steal the base and so he honorably lump summed her entire tuition and sent her to another state and how ****** she would be if she had to get a job for the first time at the age of twenty three so she wouldn't have to be dependent on her family and that she was sick of wondering why not a single guy had ever given her a ******* flower and that if she ever did end up liking one two weeks later she would find out that he was exactly the same as the others and
she had a broken look in her eyes
when she said she wondered why we were all here in the first place, and how we were made this way, and if people were actually ever meant to fit together or not;
what if there was nothing as certain as two halves making a whole?
She wanted to know how everyone's mind had a different game to play, she wanted to know why Jupiter had to be so far away and everything in between.
We had strolled off of the school grounds by this time but I still looked twice before pulling out my flask. IΒ Β unscrewed the cap, handed it to her and said
follow me to Deadbeat Hollow, where we've already thrown our problems out of the window