1

Nobody could tell by looking outside the window, or even venturing to go outside, what time of year it was. This is for certain- that is a fact. The leaves, you see, on the trees do not reveal whether they are changing or have just recently changed; regardless, it was a pretty day. The sun was out along with some clouds, the temperature was moderate and it too offered no clue as to what season it was. This is why- she supposed- people moved here. It is nice to have constants. In a world, in an epoch, in a place, where and when everything changes it's nice to have certain things that remain the same. She thinks. She thinks a lot. She rarely talks. She goes on long, long walks carrying her thoughts in her pockets- which all seem to have holes in them, incidentally- or with her thoughts stuffed, plugging her ears like headphones for an electronic music playing device. She is not nice. She will be the first to admit it. She isn't mean either, though. She is just "honest." Therefore, depending upon what the truth is at the moment her temperament fluctuates sporadically between "nice" and "mean." She laughs when she thinks of the meaning of mean or the meaning of nice; in her mind it's all the same in the end. People always interpret comments and/or compliments according to their own personal convictions. Nothing I say even means anything, then she thinks. This thought makes her grin. She looks very gorgeous when she grins. She looks beautiful when she doesn't. Most of the time she does not smile at all. Her brow is usually knit in contemplation. She contemplates her fate, mostly. Sometimes she contemplates why it is she only contemplates herself, even when she is thinking of others- these thoughts always make her feel infinitely alone and angry. Which is how she feels most frequently. Indeed, very rarely does she feel the opposite of alone or the opposite of angry. Even when she is in a room full of a thousand people (and they are all "her friends") she feels alone; in fact, more so. Her anger never leaves her for more than a few seconds- at the peak of an orgasm or during climax. It's true. She laughs. She is laughing at language; she finds it annoying, yet humorous, that language is so open-ended, that the word climax can be attached to a novel or a sexual act. Two things which she thinks have not too much in common- but then again, maybe they have everything in common. This too makes her laugh. Surprisingly enough she does not look beautiful or gorgeous when she laughs- she looks scary. She is sitting in the windowsill of her parents apartment, she is perched like a cat or a bird looking out into the world. She likes what she sees. She likes what she sees but still she is reluctant to leave her position of sitting and partake in the events occurring on the other side of the window. She doesn't see where she would fit into it, moreover she has a feeling that her presence would ruin everything she likes about the picture on the other end of the window to begin with. She decides to "sit this one out," she feels often like a bench-warmer when viewing the world. If she had to, if her coach selected her to replace an injured or fouled-out player, she would definitely (finally) join the game, but until that happens she is not going to volunteer her services. That is for sure. This is for certain. She is absolutely positive about that. It is a fact.