Untitled The wind blows in the trees and rustles the leaves that billow at my feet. My scarf twists and turns like it yearns to latch onto you. Like it yearns like I do. I watch you walk past, your feet in the grass and my head in the clouds wondering how I could ever approach you. I am twenty sorts of strange from my soul to my ribcage and then further down to the dirt of my shoelaces. And I don’t think you need that so I stay at your back hoping I’ll arrive at a mindset where I can be happy. You don’t glance my way and that is okay because I can’t talk to you and people don’t flock to me and why would I want them to? I’m miserable at interaction and our interacting hasn’t really happened it would be a chemical reaction set for disaster a pending doom. Because differences can be dealt with but my odd behavior is failure by nature and it refuses to fit with a mold like yours. © Dana L. 2013