The Mind of a Young Girl

PART ONE
She wore a ribbon upon her head just above her bangs that hung innocently over her brows,
Overshodowing her eyes that lay dark green and brown,
Big eyes that top off her long frown.
She was a normal little girl,
Young and fun and could entertain anyone with just a twirl.
She liked to sing.
Beautiful tunes that she'd sing to bring lingering happiness while she leaned on a cold window pane.
Her voice rang,
Like rain drip dropping from the angry sky as the thunder banged,
And then would change to a frightening lightning biting into the shiver of the wind.
Her voice followed as if the sounds had hollowed and congregated to join in as a line of strings bowed in low tones of harmony.
An orchestra, she'd imagine, the musicians making strong gestures to make their intrument paint pictures in her mind.
Their movements synchronized forming an illusion of waves and ripples that would decend and rise.
She opened her eyes, half expecting to see her daydream, but she found herself gleeming at the streaming rain before her.
Nevertheless, she went about her happy tune to sing away the day's rainy gloom.
She'd focus on the tinted fade of a windchime she had made out of old spoons and strings she had twindled together.
The memory was there, on the porch where a swing sat swaying influenced, of course, by the unceasing wind.
She'd sit and swing on days of May when the scent of the flowers were calling her.
Their peddles and leaves seemed to dance and prance in the soft spring breeze.
Their brilliant blooms boomed a bold sight of iridescence attracting insects that crawl, fly, and climb.
She enjoyed these days of May, but the day was April 16, and was raining and she sat singing, leaning on that cold window pane.

PART TWO
Her breath fogged the shiny glass that was pitifully exposed to the clashing sheets of downpour that seemed to be at war with the Earth.
Her eyes were fixed upon the heavy splashes of heaven's great tear drops falling aimlessly from the dull and dingy clouds.
They rolled onward. Soon to snatch away another blissful day for yet another child will have a rainy day to sing and proclaim their lives to.
Atleast, that's what she'd do.
Sit and wait for the wetness to subdue and then the fresh dew will lay brand new filling her nose with fresh clean scents of sweet perfume.
Her room seemed dead and motionless except for the candle's flame sending flickers of shadows and glows among her walls and floor.
These flickers reminded her of an old projector that would click as it sent memories in vague colors among the cracked walls of the apartment.
The photos were alive.
Dancing shadows of ones she once knew, who waved and played. She wished they would have stayed.
The picture would slide over and a new show would arise.
Her, as a toddler hopping around in her fairy princess too too with a wand included.
"What a wonderful actress!" her father would address and then move on to clean a mess, never-the-less, she loved to be the princess.
During the show she'd lay snuggled deep into the warm quilts which had bright colors of patterns that shattered home into her mind.
She remembered.
Pink and green and oranges of such that would lay as stepping stones for her eyes.
They followed down an endless path of shapes and colors that she would repeat in her mind.
"Pink, orange, green. Squares and diamonds. Together with seams. Pink, orange green. Squares and diamonds..."

TO BE CONTINUED