Now They're all Dead Hearts to You

You stand quite alone.

With your bright yellow dress, the ribbons in your hair, and the smell of jasmine always about you.

The look of perpetual wide eyed innocence, while people talk of things you don't understand.

Then you go out onto the lawn and stand with your arms hanging as if they don't belong, at the swing, at the foot of the pond, beside the others.

Did they follow you out there?

Or did they just leave you behind?