An Ode for the Girl Who Glared At Me

Do you know what it’s like to cry for a stranger? It’s the strangest feeling in the world, my heathens… I’ve done it before, many years ago. I wish I could do it now. The only feeling I can manage now is a slightly more empty soul and a feeling of restlessness.

Her sensations still linger as wisps and fragments in the places she used to sit, in the people she used to speak to…

I didn’t love her. She was just another voice in a room, another hilarious pun in the hush and stillness of awkward confusion.

But her absence still has weight. A weight that can be passed by on a mere glance but the more you focus on it, the heavier it gets.

I barely knew the girl who glared at me those many years ago. Her slim, petite figure and flaxen hair are all worthy of the minuscule memory she has in my mind. The jumpy eyes and bored-to-death tone mingled with her baggy hoodie and sweatpants that hide a lightly blemished face, every detail becomes more obscure the less she is here.

I barely knew her, my heathens. Barely. All I know of her are the whispers of her friends and the slight movements of her falling out of chair from the corner of my eye. That is all I will ever know.

We may not have known much of the other, but I will still hang my head for her. The dead deserve respect, my heathens, from the unorthodox to the unspeakably plain. All life is meaningful and the extinguishing of it must be commemorated.

So hang your heads, my heathens. Close your eyes and send her fleeting soul your best of wishes, your fickle goodbyes, for when the time comes when she can no longer be sought, she will be totally and absolutely gone.

-Cap

In honor of A.

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