Come on, come out.
Waddled in plastic, suffocating, bla bla bla.
Then she asks me questions, like a little girl pulling on the hand of another child, pulling her up from her place on the swing, and beaming wholeheartedly, rosy pink cheeks flushed by excitement and hair tinted from the back with 3.30pm sunlight, forming an innocent, glorious halo, and the girl from the swing watches detachedly as she speaks to her with interest. With care. With genuine curiosity.
And like the swing, creaking with the ghost of her movement, her mind cries out with rust. How to respond to such love?
Was it even genuine, or was she one in a million others? She was not good enough to answer.
She never answered. But she casts around for an answer right now, the dead grass, that bronze frame of wispy hair, the true smile, and dejectedly she shuts her mouth, which was never open to start with.
I want to curl up into a hole and die.
Then she asks me questions, like a little girl pulling on the hand of another child, pulling her up from her place on the swing, and beaming wholeheartedly, rosy pink cheeks flushed by excitement and hair tinted from the back with 3.30pm sunlight, forming an innocent, glorious halo, and the girl from the swing watches detachedly as she speaks to her with interest. With care. With genuine curiosity.
And like the swing, creaking with the ghost of her movement, her mind cries out with rust. How to respond to such love?
Was it even genuine, or was she one in a million others? She was not good enough to answer.
She never answered. But she casts around for an answer right now, the dead grass, that bronze frame of wispy hair, the true smile, and dejectedly she shuts her mouth, which was never open to start with.
I want to curl up into a hole and die.