04-22-2020, 08:55 AM
Enjoying the nightsong.
Each word is faulty, almost quaking as it leaves her midnight lips, teetering on the edge of a voice crack. She did not want to break now, not here in the presence of strangers, and what should be happiness in the moment.
Isn’t that how it’s supposed to go, meeting others, the presence of her own kind that have not once tried to push or send her away?
(she remembers the forcefulness of being dismissed, the coldness of the shove, and winces. Withdrawing inward, tucking her head towards her chest as if to hold herself.)
Jenger was awful at lying, and in truth, she has come to believe over the years that she was awful at most things.
Connecting, first and foremost, and believe me she has tried, God’s how she has tried.
Mother never responded, it’s one of the first things she had learned as a girl.
This time it’s no different, though she somehow bares it, swallowing and tracing a warmth to her face. She didn’t want to be their burden too.
“It is a nice night,” her words bend to agree, sift against the nerves, to wrap around, and comfort the first skittish voice like an embrace. Internally her thoughts turn circles, wondering how’s and why’s and finding no answers in return- she doesn’t have a remedy for it. The starlight against her back is unable to guide her through the motions of friendship, disappearing come morning, easily blending into a bright blue sky or hiding behind a cover of clouds.
“It sounds as if they’re trying to sing the Moon to stay,” the words are wistful, nearing a sigh more than a sentence.
“Sometimes it sounds like they say my name too,” there is almost a laugh there, it sounds silly now that she has said it. “I’m Jenger.”
Each word is faulty, almost quaking as it leaves her midnight lips, teetering on the edge of a voice crack. She did not want to break now, not here in the presence of strangers, and what should be happiness in the moment.
Isn’t that how it’s supposed to go, meeting others, the presence of her own kind that have not once tried to push or send her away?
(she remembers the forcefulness of being dismissed, the coldness of the shove, and winces. Withdrawing inward, tucking her head towards her chest as if to hold herself.)
Jenger was awful at lying, and in truth, she has come to believe over the years that she was awful at most things.
Connecting, first and foremost, and believe me she has tried, God’s how she has tried.
Mother never responded, it’s one of the first things she had learned as a girl.
This time it’s no different, though she somehow bares it, swallowing and tracing a warmth to her face. She didn’t want to be their burden too.
“It is a nice night,” her words bend to agree, sift against the nerves, to wrap around, and comfort the first skittish voice like an embrace. Internally her thoughts turn circles, wondering how’s and why’s and finding no answers in return- she doesn’t have a remedy for it. The starlight against her back is unable to guide her through the motions of friendship, disappearing come morning, easily blending into a bright blue sky or hiding behind a cover of clouds.
“It sounds as if they’re trying to sing the Moon to stay,” the words are wistful, nearing a sigh more than a sentence.
“Sometimes it sounds like they say my name too,” there is almost a laugh there, it sounds silly now that she has said it. “I’m Jenger.”
jenger
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