Quiet Boy

By Extra Small

There is a very quiet boy in my class. He is cute.

He doesn’t talk a lot, so I don’t know if he’s smart.

But I don’t want to judge him.

He doesn’t laugh at the same things other people do

When we are watching a documentary in class he actually watches it.

He waits for people to exit the door when he’s prolly been wanting to leave the class for a long time.

He’s always plugged into something.

I hope it’s not anything too heavy or American rock-typey stuff.

I feel guilty for hoping that.

I wonder if he likes Lord of the Rings or if he judges people who like Lord of the Rings.

There are only two kinds of people when it comes to that, right?

I don’t think he thinks about himself too much.

He is probably an altruistic angel.

In fact, he is probably morally superior to everyone around him.

Quiet but not shy.
He’s perfect

for now.

Nice Thoughts

by lei

I've been having lots of nice thoughts lately. Like I could write a note and stick it on their door. Maybe tell them they're pretty cool, maybe leave a plate of unhealthy sweets. Like I'll be ready whenever she needs me. Like I'll hug her when I see her. Like I want to lay on the empty side of her bed, or just rest my head on her arm, and ask her if she knows she's my favorite person. Maybe because she feels like home now. Because I equate their smiles with a past life that included blood, not bleeding blood but the blood that flows without asking—I didn't ask to be your daughter, but I am and sometimes I forget that. I smile and say it's fine when I accidentally knock into a stranger's arm (did I do it on purpose because I've forgotten—and at the same time never knew—what it feels like to be close to somebody? that's another matter entirely). I hold the door open, even if the person is quite far or may not even be headed my direction. Sometimes when I hear strangers curse just outside my window because the door is closed and locked, I feel the urge to yell out the window if they need to get in—I always feel obliged to start conversations with strangers by asking obvious questions I already know the answer to—and tell them I can come open it for them. But I never do. I just smile at the thought, admire how nice it is, then return to that flat piece of space designated for sleeping that my body and mind have morphed into a burial site.