Thursday, March 5, 2015
The Waiting Girl
The pages they read and the words the wrote were not real. An illusion that could be taken away. Their laughter was over their apologetic lives. Bodies dressed provocatively glided through the halls without a care. You could see the girls holding onto his hands. A hand that would one day let go of her leaving it in a thousand pieces simulating the end of her existence. You could see the boys running for a ball that had no chance of a future. A game they would play to work out their uncontrolled youth energy. Each one so different but categorized to fit together. You could see her. See was standing in the middle of the rushing hallway. Her book bag hanging from her shoulder and a coffee mug warming her hand. She could feel everything. Like a sponge soaking up all of the dreadful emotions radiated by them. She saw the underlying pain in their souls that would slowly eat away at their very existence. She would stand there day after day watching them scramble to make the bell or to gossip on unintentional drama. She had no desire there. So for two years more she stood watching them repeat the cycle until she was granted leave from her sedentary state. Because then she would no longer stand as an out of place statue but she would fly as a powerful goddess. She would read and write pages so tangible she could cry at their realness. Her illusion taken away but the breath of cultures waiting for her exploring.