Skye

I'm not quite sure where she is now.

I haven't thought about her in a while, and I'm not sure how she's doing. Last time we spoke personally, we were sitting in her room and I was sitting on the floor running my hand through her room's carpet. She was sitting in front of her computer playing with sticky notes. We were listening to some blue grass. Earlier, she had her record player running with all sorts of oldies echoing throughout her attic room.

She was thinking about Sarah Lawrence for the next four years. It was in New York, as well as being a bit expensive. In the end, she chose not to go.

We promised to stay in touch. Of course we didn't.

Her house was full of scattered memories. I don't remember her house in general, just the rooms where I remember specific events.

The room where we would watch cult films.
The room where we pretended to be a band and played slow circus music.
The room where I looked at her senior pictures and her parents said to take one because they had too many.

I'm not sure exactly what I remember.

I still have her number, but I don't think I'll ever call it.
Of course, when I decide to, it will no longer be in service.

We haven't spoken in a while, and it'll probably remain that way until a while turns into a life time.