Popcorn

When she was little 

She wore the same shirt every day

In different colors 

The shirts where plain with a small design 

Her mom bought her plenty of sweaters

With cute patterns and fun colors

Why not?

The salt rained down like stars, scattering their souls across the ebony pavement. It burned through microscopic flakes of glass that lay there, turning to liquid ash. Like a forest fire, life began to sprout within the constellation's cradle.

Dear Beatrice,

Standing in the parking lot of her apartment, I see my friend. She's looking down, sad, and having just as hard of a time as me. 

I keep my head down. I don't want to leave. But I also do. I know its time.