She's happy making life a little softer, a little kinder for people.
They gallop across the dance floor with their arms around each other's shoulders.
Sentences get tangled in my head. Words get caught in dark upper branches, beyond sight. It's time to take a break.
She insists I'll feel better if I tell her what's bothering me, but I hesitate. There have been some occasions where I've felt better, but usually the main focus becomes her emotions. I have to make omissions or tiptoe around things to keep her from becoming upset. I'm the emotional caretaker. I'm also not always sure what she does with what I tell her, how she might fling it back at me at some future point.
Her dress makes the sound of a rainstick when she settles on the bench.
The house looks bashful, its windows peeking out from branches held like fingers to its face.
Maybe the path in the garden is shaped like a question mark, and you stroll there wondering, "Why am I here?"