A Fragment

Her face had been cracked from the backside of a flat shovel whirled at her by the one man who was suposed to care the most. When I talked to her she had on a flannel shirt that didn't hide her perfect hips well. She thought it was cool that I spent my nights in the woods by the house I grew up in. I told her how I listened to unseen creatures making sounds in the Autumn night leaves. I told her about the feeling in my gut from being alone in the cold dark of November. She had a look on that beautiful broken face that told me she could relate. Her bus left with her on it before I could get her name but that is the way of the bus. Looks like I gave up more than I thought to be free.