Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Her name is Avery and she has never walked to school. A self-destructive pair of lips. Ivory fingers cold with poor circulation, the knuckles sticking out. Hair that's not exactly brown or blond, but it's certainly long. You can look at her from the corners of your eyes.
Her name is Avery and you forget her cell phone number. She could count backward from 100 since first grade. She has a lot of ideas and she has a lot of bad ideas. She voices them sometimes. Once she ran away from school, once she ran away from home. She told a lie when she was small and hasn't stopped since.
Her name is Avery, but she doesn't always remember her manners. She's quiet when she plans to be, and she can even fold her hands up like a little church in her lap. She could be the perfect outsider, if not for the words that beat around in her empty mouth, leave little bruises there.
The very vast, shallow ocean.