Nothing particularly Important

Eyes sunken in, she rests her chin on her wrist, wondering what the purpose of life is.

Is it finding joy in random toys, in video games and interested boys, praying a smile fills that void?

Or is it reminiscing in random texts, time machines of things you’ve left,
people, places, words, and thoughts- Memories long since lost.

Is it the happiness you bring to friends with random jokes and random trends, and memes you think you understand-
She blinks and stares at her other hand.

Is it marriage and babies, a house on a hill, with a fence and a yard you manually till until the sun goes down…
Then dinner and bedtime and hiding the frown while you love on a man far from renown…

She furrows her brow.

Looking down now, she pouts.

Is it the secrets we keep within ourselves? Those ideas we believe are held by no one else,
those things we know that no one can guess? Those guests in our mind no one can arrest…
They stick around and dance in our crown, reminding us of who we were, who we will be, and who we are now.
Those things we protect to death and then a little bit after.

She shrugs, over contemplates, and settles on laughter.

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