I DON'T KNOW YOU

29.) points

"тнere'ѕ ѕoмeтнιng aвoυт loѕιng ғrιendѕ, parтιcυlarly yoυng people, wнere ιт'ѕ noт ѕoмeтнιng тнaт yoυ geт over. ι don'т вelιeve тнere'ѕ a нealιng proceѕѕ," -Chris Cornell

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FOURTY MINUTES LATER.....

• R A I N B O W •

I hummed to myself as I walked around, scrambling past trees and skipping over the occasional rock that found itself wedges into the ground of the Earth.

I found that nature was quite marvelous, quite silly though. And while it had its beauties, it also had its flaws. One of those being the sticks that always seemed to appear soil-ey to trip someone over or leave a scratch as a trophy.

(Welcome our best friend, Pun Counter, with a counting of... 1)

I stumbled over the stick, falling right into the grimy soil. I groaned and sat up, knocking off the excess dirt from my arms and dress. I shook my head and combed my fingers through my hair, feeling as if the dirt had gotten into it too.

Dirt always seemed to find a way into the places you never wanted it to be, or where it was least expected sometimes. It would be found in the cupboards of my old house every now and then, and I assumed that there must've been a rat or mouse that dragged along the soil from its petite and small feet. Or occasionally I'd find it lying around on the floor near the door from the days where the rain came down like little droplets meant to just litter our faces with butterfly-like kisses and the mud would dry up after a few days, being dragged from the soles of our shoes and wiped onto the rug at the entrance.

I dusted off my cake hat —which I was glad had made its way back to me—and promptly adjusted it on my head to avoid it falling. It was fake frosting and a fake cake, obviously since, well, that would be quite silly if it were to be real. Imagine wearing a real cake on your head, as delightful as it might sound, what if it collapses? Or maybe just the fact that it's an actual food or desert?

My mind always did that every now and then, fill in the gaps of worry and silence with the most random of thoughts to keep myself distracted. If I stayed distracted, then it would keep me happy until we resolved the conflict. Much like how some people bit their nails or fiddled with their hair in times of nervousness or tugged on the body of their soft fabricated clothes. Or perhaps even the few who found themselves tying knots over and over again on a sturdy rope and the ones who wound their watches in grievance and worry.

    I used to do that a lot more when I was little than now. When I was little, all I could think about was Mom. And back then, I was too small to understand that she wasn't coming back, that she couldn't come back. And Pop tried so hard to shelter me from it for as long as he could. But over time, people have to learn and understand.

    Pop always said I would fidget with random things I could get my hands on. I would mesh the bits of clay I found into small cookies or glue together paper cones to create the perfect inedible desert. I was an active kid, hyper and almost manic but not entirely. And I was always thinking of Mom.

    I guess before she passed away, I wasn't that observant. But when I started to realize that I didn't have much time left with her, I would just stare at her face and try to remember every little detail, even the ones hidden in obscurity.