"Did you know that..."
She always seemed to start sentences that way.
Revealing something she knew,
How smart.
A ridiculous fact,
Maybe about fruit or colors or a strange little animal.
"I'm thinking..."
Her mind is always thinking,
It's gears turning, the cogs going triple speed
So that she may talk with ease.
I can never read her mind,
Which is fine.
She often tells me what's on it.
Our conversations continue like this,
Weird facts,
Strange tales,
And a sprinkle of theatrical whimsy.
I wish she knew how much
She meant to me.
Meant to all my friends.
But she just thinks she talks too much.
YOU ARE READING
Poems That I Form
PoetryI ask for no comments, votes, or anything. This is a place I can rant quietly without anyone needing to be a mandated reporter.
