Lunch
South sat with me,
Awkwardly,
I guess,
We both have no friends,
Or he's trying to be nice,
To the poor girl in the corner,
Dining on a feast,
Of fake vegetables and such
"Like it here?"
"Yeah,
Really cool.
Different."
"Good?"
Nod.
Small talk,
Excahnged between,
A girl with short dark hair,
And a boy with blonde hair,
That swishes back and forth,
I hope he cuts it
He notices me staring,
I turn away and eat,
"Something wrong?"
I laugh,
"No."
"You sure?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Eh.
"Parents?"
"Yes."
He considers,
Thinks careful,
Cause he has good parents,
He values family,
Wish I knew what it felt like
"Relation?"
"Mom hates me."
"Hate?"
"She yells.
Lots."
Pause. Considers.
"Why?"
"Knocked over the couch.
A few times."
A questioning look,
Wonder why I have no friends?
"I like games.
Interactive one,
And I knocked it over."
"Oh."
Silence,
I know this silence,
He isn't coming back,
After this
He gets up,
Dumps his tray,
Comes back,
"Cool."
I am in shock,
I check my pulse,
Pinch my arm,
I am alive,
Awake,
And may have found a friend
"You like games?"
"Yes."
"What kinds?"
"Any really,
Not too gory though."
"Agreed."
I think I found a friend.
YOU ARE READING
Virtual
PoesiaNova loves three things: food, her computer, and her music. She might love Gage too, but why even try? She's Nova the Nobody. This "book" is told through poems. See the Author's Note.
