She

She whispers like a dream
Catching fireflies in her fingers
Just one more hour in the moonlight.

She curls up with the cat sometimes
And lies amidst a thousand blankets
Swallowed up in the marsh of comfort.

She stares out the window when it’s raining
Watching the teardrops run down
Tracing each path with one delicate finger.

She makes up friends because she wants to
(Even though it’s really because she has to)
And gives each of them names I’ve never heard before.

She told me once, in the cornfield behind her house
That she was sad and lonely and angry
And I didn’t answer.

She used to make pies with mushrooms and lamb-
Lots of flavor, mind you-
But I tried to make it today and I couldn’t taste a thing.

She talked to me on that last day
Already distant and spreading her wings
When I said goodbye and she flew away.

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