Burning up

She was anxious but now she was calm
Her heart throbbed to a curious beat, she had heard her uncle also had irregular heartbeat.
But she didn't want to be a hypochondriac, they are lame. She didn't want to be one of them.
Her hands were smooth although she didn't moisturise. They were small hands sometimes nimble, often not. She couldn't play the piano but she had once captivated an elderly lady with her cello playing. Her father, he had sung in his high school choir. And so had she, but she wasn't good enough.
Her hands were trembling slightly slowly irregularly. Her head was warm and then hot and her eyelids felt weighed down, drooping. She always remembered when Jerry propped Tom's eyelids up with matchsticks. When she was a young child she had had a double-video of Tom and Jerry. She watched it many times and thought it was very funny, although there was not often much narrative progression.
When she was younger, in those days of Tom and Jerry, she liked to read Enid Blyton. She loved all her books. She liked to read the Famous Five book that her dad had won in primary school. It might life seem mighty big. It made her a bit sad to think that maybe kids these days didn't read much Enid Blyton, because maybe there were racist or sexist or something-ist undertones. Bet those people who say that didn't read the Magical Faraway Tree and imagine themselves in wonderful crazy lands with talking saucepans.
It was embarassing for her to admit, but she used to believe in the Care Bears. Maybe it was some sort of false hope. She was not naive (or she didn't think she was), but she found herself somewhat convinced of the existence of the fluffy colourful friendly bears. Maybe she just hoped they were real. She also cried when she watched Brother Bear. It was an excellent film that she saw at the movies with her friend called Sarah. She remembered, the soundtrack was by Phil Collins, that great balding man. He sang with a passion that resonated through her young soul and made tears peak in the corner of her green eyes.

hello /

hello / said the boy in black
with the majestic hair / it was like a wave hitting crescendo
it was like
whipped egg whites / like when you used to make meringues on summer days .
he had symmetrical and bold eyebrows too .

she said / hello , how are you ?
in her mind she said : you are spunky

his eyes crinkled / like crepe paper and old man wrinkle
like a smile in his eyes
i am great and how are you ?

she could feel her cheeks betraying her as they so often did / those traitors
she couldn't even look at a charming youth without /
red scarlet pink flush shame fear
fear fear fear .
// but fear of what ? ?

boys are just smelly girls with /
different parts ? and different thoughts and different ways .
as unreadable as a convoluted book ? or as a cleo magazine .
but they seemed also like a different species / a breed apart. something different and not familiar and sometimes not familiar is frightening because how do you know what to do if you haven't done it before ? ?

maybe it was fear / confusion , which may be a potent combination with which to deal
( she felt thwarted )

she said she was / good ,
even though she wasn't sure if she was / really