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myra and a sad storyWith strawberry mascara streaming down her visage
and blue windows reflected in her eyes
She picked up a pen, a bit too stoically
lying amongst eight paper dice
"Logic is harsh, hurt is awake
I'm bedridden with lemon honeystars
Pain is fresh, smiles are fake
I'm on a moon off to Saturn, Venus and Mars"
Her poison-pen letter was done, she reveled in her fate
From behind her roared a standing ovation
With trembling hands clasped around an accolade
Nothing could be compared to her elation
A spiral blur engulfed her senses
She closed her eyes in bliss
With fires in her heart and a minty aftertaste
This was a moment she could not miss
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
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