Well, because trying to turn the nothing into something that’s stirring might take a little more than what’s thought of as falling, crumbling for someone kind of different, utterly important to an extent our eyes may only perceive once they have reached out and fed on such unique pale-from-Winter front.
We wonder about how common she seems to every other person, how she blends in and shies away sited there at front in the numbest of classes. What is it that turns the usual into special, the unusual into acceptable? What is it that makes people dream of what they think plausible, when all that is is a reality so clouded and elusive, and made-up that even us, we struggle to draw a future inside it, one containing ourselves and her. But can she ever be contained?