we
we danced
we danced together when we were younger and didn't have a care in the world as we strummed our blow up guitars to the music in a toddler's mind standing on top of a toy box.
but now, we dance around each other instead of with.
we live in separate realms where we think separate thoughts.
we live, love, and meet
together occasionally when we dance to the same beat. But these moments are fleeting.
The same bathroom mirror reflects the same conversations we have every morning and the shared moments that sometimes only occur while getting ready on chaotic mornings, in transit to different moments with different people thinking different thoughts about the world than we did.
but we did, we always will be those girls in the mirror who were reflections of each other only captured by the reflection in the mirror.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Scenes from a Fifth Grade Wallflower
He was a new student from Arizona who entered my 4th grade class.
He spiked his bangs like the rest of the boys did to look cool.
He once blocked a goal in gym class by doing a perfect center split.
He did martial arts at the talent show on the last day of school.
He sat next to me in Ms. Conron's 5th grade class, the first time we really talked.
"Isn't it funny how we never talked until recently?" he asked, eyes shining.
"That's just because our seats are next to each other," I replied coldly.
He moved away, he moved back, and then entered the lives of others. He easily slipped out of my own, something that tends to happen after elementary school graduation.
One day this past spring, I walked to my bus alone. He was walking towards the school, and our paths crossed for a flicker of a moment. He looked up at me and waited to see if I would offer a hint of recognition, warmness, anything. I smiled and waved, he returned the greeting, and we went off in our separate directions.
"Truck fatally strikes Warren Township teen on Route 78." He hasn't been in a class of mine since Ms. Conron's fifth grade class, and now he never will. You can hardly know someone, but when that someone is gone, your mind becomes illuminated with the ghosts of conversations past.
He spiked his bangs like the rest of the boys did to look cool.
He once blocked a goal in gym class by doing a perfect center split.
He did martial arts at the talent show on the last day of school.
He sat next to me in Ms. Conron's 5th grade class, the first time we really talked.
"Isn't it funny how we never talked until recently?" he asked, eyes shining.
"That's just because our seats are next to each other," I replied coldly.
He moved away, he moved back, and then entered the lives of others. He easily slipped out of my own, something that tends to happen after elementary school graduation.
One day this past spring, I walked to my bus alone. He was walking towards the school, and our paths crossed for a flicker of a moment. He looked up at me and waited to see if I would offer a hint of recognition, warmness, anything. I smiled and waved, he returned the greeting, and we went off in our separate directions.
"Truck fatally strikes Warren Township teen on Route 78." He hasn't been in a class of mine since Ms. Conron's fifth grade class, and now he never will. You can hardly know someone, but when that someone is gone, your mind becomes illuminated with the ghosts of conversations past.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)