As she lays in the grass, dew clinging to her back and arms, she looks up to the moon as if it owes something. She hums quiet enough not to be heard, as if someone was listening. No one was. Her black hair blew over her face ever so slightly, due to the slow, cold wind. Her eyes are relaxed and dead looking, no emotion whatsoever. She didn't expect to be in a field alone on a Saturday night, nonetheless alone anyways. She had been expecting to see someone. Anyone. Just, not herself.
yay Depersonalization !! (I hate this uhhh...poem?)
