She sat on the hill
In the dead grass,
That satchel still across her chest.
She crossed her legs
And felt relaxed.
Relaxed but not happy.
She thought about how this was okay.
The birds were chirping.
The birds had returned.
As the world came alive,
She wondered if it would help to cry.
She sat and sat and then picked up this pen.
Maybe answers could be found this way.
Maybe there were no answers to be found.
Maybe this time the only answer is still
And to live is to just sit.
Sit, sit, sit
In the discomfort
Until it’s time to rise
As the world comes alive.