She stood shirtless on the hardwood and said that the neck is the prettiest part of a woman. "Cou, in French," she said and I wished I was there. I was busy writing an equation to convert space into feeling and she had to speak alone. "You think too hard about becoming obscure, you can never be a color in the distance," she continued, "and you must stop moving." I knew that I had bought too fully into the image of anxiety, but I didn't realize how difficult it was to find an empty room. "Anything can happen when you have a place," was the mantra I adopted at a young age, and she seemed to understand. She turned to face the only mirror in the room and played with her hair. "If you had the confidence of dreams, your heart wouldn't bother you. Try to forget your youth." All the tired kids tried to ply the day with words, gave up and returned to sleep. They talked about strip malls and houses in fields. They talked about the sky and the roads. "Eventually you'll get it," the brownhaired girl said, retiring to her sheets and pillows in the doorless room.
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