literature

The One Who Counted

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Literature Text

A mouse, a ponytail,
Scurrying along the edges of the spotlight,
Always there,
Even when you don't know it,
And even when you do and wish you didn't.
She catches tears in soft hands,
Has doe eyes that will cry for you when you can't.
There's quiet music hidden in her labcoat lapels,
Cherries on her jumpers
And on her lips.
Her head is a tiny nothing that can hold the weight of the world,
Lotus-petal ears catching the drip of your rainfall words.
Pink tea and sugary coffee,
Quavers and petri dishes and blood.
Nice. Very nice.
She's the epitome of nice,
A big cavern echoing of niceness,
Slipping in under the other sounds.
You wouldn't pay a penny for a moment with her,
Until you realise -
The moments have counted.
Molly gets under your skin until you realise all those nothing moments have created an everything existence. A lifetime of cheap remembrances compressed into months becomes valuable, like a diamond is just rubbish squeezed extra-hard.
© 2012 - 2024 TeddyIchneumon
Comments18
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Love the whole thing but this line in partitular: "Has doe eyes that will cry for you when you can't." Aww.