Status: something short to keep creative

Poison Oak

seven

I look at her, the girl with no parents with long blonde hair with hollowed-out cheeks with shaking fingers with the most beautiful blue eyes, and I wonder. I wonder what I would ever do without her because lately a far off look had taken over her eyes, the eyes I love so much. Her slouching shoulder blade slides away as my desperate fingertips reach out to touch at her skin, her eyes tilted downward and lips closed up tight. I wonder what I've done wrong, what I can do to make it better, what I can do to make her love me again. Finally one morning when the sun has just risen up, over a bowl of soggy cheerios drenched in what I am sure is expired milk, I open up my mouth to ask her what, why, who, how? Those blue eyes catch mine for a moment before wavering, filling up with liquid, echoing all of the words she'll never say to me.

"Nothing," Her voice cracks. "Just...you don't want to know about me, I'm no good for you. I'm just not."