Lena
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
that perches in the soul
Still.
That hadn’t been the word Lena would’ve described herself with – because she always found herself busy. Sometimes purposefully avoidant of quiet, hushed proportions, for then thoughts of other things came hurtling back. Her sister. Her family. Wars. The painstaking process of horror unraveling before her eyes and not being able to do much of anything to stop it.
So her brows furrowed vaguely – not in anger or rage, but confusion. “I don’t find my life boring at all,” and she shrugged her shoulders, indifferent to how the youth viewed her world – for this child of Ludo had never lived in Lena’s shoes, and vice versa. “And it’s not your responsibility to do anything for me.” Why a child would find that a necessity rankled some finer edges, and the Caretaker found herself shaking her head, stride proceeding across the stones. “I would argue that I’m not. Why are you worried about it?”
That hadn’t been the word Lena would’ve described herself with – because she always found herself busy. Sometimes purposefully avoidant of quiet, hushed proportions, for then thoughts of other things came hurtling back. Her sister. Her family. Wars. The painstaking process of horror unraveling before her eyes and not being able to do much of anything to stop it.
So her brows furrowed vaguely – not in anger or rage, but confusion. “I don’t find my life boring at all,” and she shrugged her shoulders, indifferent to how the youth viewed her world – for this child of Ludo had never lived in Lena’s shoes, and vice versa. “And it’s not your responsibility to do anything for me.” Why a child would find that a necessity rankled some finer edges, and the Caretaker found herself shaking her head, stride proceeding across the stones. “I would argue that I’m not. Why are you worried about it?”
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all
and never stops at all
