Laughing girls and drowned fishes

As we grow older,

even our feelings grow too complex for our diaries.

Why do some girls laugh,

when they talk to boys

and some don’t?

Flipping every page

holding numerous entries

of varying dates.

Well, it doesn’t always have to do with love,

than with the nerves.

They say our diaries are our best friends,

but you can’t tell your best friends everything.

So, the feelings are that complex?

If you fear that that silent voluminous weight of words

will tattle to the wrong hands

and curious, reckoning souls.

So, why do some girls giggle

and go back to drown themselves in pages?

And return to giggle like streams of water,

pouring through greenish rocks of biofilm,

enveloped with silent progression.

If I were to by chance sit on a boulder

staring at drowning fishes flapping

through these stones struggling to flip

themselves back into the water body unsuccessfully,

Can I assume fishes drown on atmospheric oxygen?

Can I assume that laughing girls drown on atmospheric oxygen?

So, we’re laughing and flipping through these pages,

Talking to boys with trembling hands,

Flipping our hearts into pages and hiding dismal knottiness

somewhere between the shadow and the soul,

Watching the sunset with hands knotted together with said boys

and diaries soaking into the floating stream.

The still fish heaves a last attempt at a desperate flip and plops,

disappearing into the shallow stream,

where we cool our feet and disturb the peace.