rain

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⌠ 1 ⌡

There is something strange

about the school in fall's early mornings.


Always,

some kind of mist lingering outside,

fog clinging to the windows,

sticking to your clothes.

As if the world's slow to wake.


This bleariness

infiltrates into the hallways.


The rain is colder now,

biting its way through my jacket,

almost as if

seeping under my skin.


There was a time

when rain meant 

something else.



Now


I wait for clear skies.






⌠ 2 ⌡

Sometimes I see her,

still,

in morning fog.


Short hair,

bobbing up and down,

a warm smile.


The way she jumped.

Waving at us,

like we somehow didn't see her.


The smell of her room,

when she tutored us.

Her delicate fingers

laying out snacks for us.

Her messy writing.

Her habit

of pulling her sleeves.

Her lips creasing

from worry,

whenever we were quiet.



She's just

gone.



Whispers in the hallways.

Some girls cry.

A teacher might have made an

announcement.


Tired.

A formality.




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