Summer has come and passed, the innocent can never last. Eleanor is not quite present as she walks around the halls. The house was too quiet for a Sunday. It felt like someone was walking beside her, mocking her. Mocking the girl with tired pointe shoes and hair like faded gold. She had tied it up neatly, but strands escaped, whispering against her cheeks as she stared out the window. She thought of summers gone, of innocence that slipped away too soon.
The rain began without warning. Drops fell like tears from the stars, darkening the glass, streaking the pale reflection of her own face. She pressed her hand to the cold windowpane, fingers spread, as if she could touch something, anything.
Every rhythm in her bones begged her to dance, but her body sat still. Every memory rested deep, yet refused to sleep. Because September had teeth. And September always returned. "Wake me up when September ends", Eleanor whispers, and rips out the hair ties and clips from the hair.
