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I guess in the end It always wraps around and around and around
She was born. They lived. He died. No one really did. Or maybe she died.
Soft skin, dark of hair and thin the strands snake around on two heads. Twins they are pronounced. They are twins, they are twins, they’re the same, wonderful twins, both beautiful, healthy girls.
She grew up rather normally. Feelings overcoming thought much of the time, difficulty is notorious in focusing she has, but still she eats. She sleeps. She learns. She grows. Small hurts start to litter her, unforgotten but remembered. She looks up at the sky and its blue.
They couldn’t do much about it. Didn’t know that there names for this kind of thing. Didn’t know what to do, didn’t know who she was. If she was. Didn’t know much really. Failed out of school that one, tried to overdose on drugs that one. They made true friends or perhaps just acquaintances. That hurts, but its better than nothing, they say, until the hurts grow and pile and everything is dull. Now understanding is hard and the people hate her and the schoolwork is confusing and the friends are leaving and the other girl is leaving and living but they are still stuck and the family is burdened and life is dull and the sky is grey
She's tired. They're too dull.
They lived. They managed. The dull passed slightly and allowed for a little light to come shine clarity outside. They imagine that this is what it should be. They try, they go, they work hard for their own sake (or perhaps the sake of them, them who always come first) and try to become another better version. A better version that seems to meet with more approval than the original plan. Good.
And then things are not good. Suddenly or perhaps always, or maybe imagined, there it is again. Down, down, up,down,upupupdownupdownnnnnnnnnupupupu p up up up, up, up, up, Up, Up (down). They tire. They are always tired. They think, they they they could maybe do the the theee the theeeeeee the thing the the thing the thing, that thing yes. That thing. No more! Just… just them. The night sky twinkles faintly. A dog barks.
She’s sitting. Sitting and breathing and the air is moderately clear. The sky is a purple-orange, her legs are swaying, breaking the wind or she hopes. Tiny yellow leaves fall. Will she really do this. She feels nothing, no energy, no tiredness, no happiness, no excitement, no dread, no fear. No-thing. No more. She pushes slightly, zoning out at the sight of the grass and trees and pavement below. Easy. Worth it. Right. She quiets suddenly, goes extremely still at the thought of him. What he might have lived, had she not been too… this. Too much her. He will never know. She breathes in, breathes out, stares. He will never have to know. She stares and stares and drops and there is wind and green and color and free and she stares and she knows that she was born, and he died, and they lived and all at once she thinksitsnot going tomatter anymore andshe cannotcontemplatethatlongenough, justfeelsasuddenhollownessbeforebeforebefore
Before what?
Before... before... before... The word lost its meaning. B? Four? Bees and fores and dull and grey and something in their chest and something in her heart and its going. Never mind, its gone.
They wake up. Finally, they think. Inhales. Exhales. Not so dull.