bird thoughts with poe

It's in the last week or so of spring that I realize it's warm enough to sleep outside again. I sit on a stranger's bed with my back against the wall, watching the way the sun slowly creeps in and paints the walls of the room pink. She rolls over in her sleep, last night's makeup smudged on her eyes. I didn't get a name, she didn't give it, but when her head falls in my lap I stroke her hair back gently. I think my love language has always been this, the quiet offering of comfort without any hope of a return.

'Thanks for last night - x'

The note seems like a good enough goodbye. It's not like either of us wanted more than this and the idea of still being around when she wakes up just sounds uncomfortable. I shoulder my bag and am out the door by seven.

It's too early to bother my friends, or maybe just too late. Saturday nights see us thrown across the district, all embroiled in some sort of mischief. It's earned us a bad name at school but I don't mind it. I love being part of a whole.

But I'm afraid sometimes that I rely on my friends too much. I never wanted to be a burden, never wanted anyone to feel like they had to love me. Though I know that's exactly what I want, always. I can't bear the idea of being disliked. I'm just too stubborn to admit it, or maybe I was just raised by a shadow and that's why I'm always chasing them.

Breakfast is a danish from Magpie's. It's at least a little healthy if candied fruit and layers of real butter wrapped in pastry count. I shut my eyes as I chew, wondering if I ever would have learned to love the taste so much if I hadn't run from home. My father used to order a whole box of them to the house every Monday, just like that, all because my mother said she liked them once.

Birds rest on the edges of the fountain in the middle of the square and the last of my pastry goes to them, little torn up pieces clutched in their greedy beaks.

I know how this looks because I crafted the moment. With my clothing, tidy and expensive and my dreads pulled back into a ponytail, I look like just another rich kid feeding the birds my excess. My family is old money, my father always made sure to teach me how to act in public. I know how to bow seven different ways, what all the little forks and knives are for at dinner and what order to use them in. I can ride a horse, spar relatively well and used to wipe the floor at chess.

I just don't see why I'd do any of those things anymore. I don't think it matters what spoon I use to eat my soup with, it doesn't change anything.

Things are as they are and one day, I know everything will change again. I can feel my father's patience wearing thin, it won't be long until he stops leaving out money for me, won't be long until he changes the locks. School will end soon, we all only have a year or so left and I don't know what will happen to us. I guess we're going to have to grow up.

I never planned that far ahead, I didn't even plan for how cold winter gets. I just know that I can't go back there, to the house haunted by my mother long before she died. There are too many ghosts and I won't admit that I'm a coward.

I'll just feed the birds all I have left.