Hope used to always tease her, back in freshman year, about how she always listened to “Sad Bastard” music.
And know here Maisie was, a grown woman of almost 23, listening to melancholy songs of unrequited love and resigned dislocation.
A rainy Thursday morning, listening to her sad songs on an MP3 player, the storefronts and restaurants filled with trinkets and treats she no longer wanted.
The comic shop held soured dreams she’d relegated to the scrap heap.
It was at least cool this June morning, the grey, rumpled sky a comfort, as her sung laments soothed her anxiousness, even though hopes for love were so trite and childish now the world was burning.
Maisie goes to the park, squats by the clear and cool little creek, watches a orange gold fish swim against the current, chase after his own tail in circles. It’s the only truth she sees that day.