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reasons to love a shy girli. men fear strong women,
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but she's far from strong.
this wisp of a girl
doesn't even need a hurricane
to fall apart.
she'd glued and re-glued,
old bonds wearing thin,
but if you ask politely,
she'll let you touch her scars.
ii. her lips are fettered in rusted chains.
you'd need a crowbar to pry up
her whispered secrets.
you are not worthy to hear her voice
just as she is not worthy to give it to you.
she told me everything she knows,
and i shut it away,
kept it safe.
i tied the threads into double knots
just to make sure
they wouldn't curl away from me,
twisted up like a dead spider's legs.
iii. she is hewn from shadow,
woven from grains of sand.
you might think she'd flow,
breeze by on a sparrow's breath,
but she's never been good at
anything but sinking.
she is buried treasure, and all
the things you wish you could forget.
iv. you found her washed up on the shore,
drawing pictures of her flickering soul,
and knew she was too unsteady to love.
when you reached for her heart,
Brown Eyed GirlI had left a small store on the boulevard, and was walking down the paved sidewalk. It was a fine, cloudless day in the city of New Orleans. A fine day to walk and enjoy the magnificent scenery of the city.
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Peculiar enough, I had the distinct feeling that today was going to continue becoming better.
I continued walking down the sidewalk as I came upon a street corner. Usually there would be a street performer or a musician here, since it was a high traffic area on the boulevard. Today, there was no person playing music, juggling, selling food, or preaching to the usually respectful citizens of Louisiana about their religion.
As I passed this corner, wonderful memories of watching these people as a kid started appearing in my head, as if happening all over again. Then I saw her.
She was on the opposite street corner, and I decided promptly to walk over and exchange a hello, maybe a dollar of gratitude for entertainment. She was playing a wonderful, melodious tune on an old Dobro guitar.