Her.

her fingers paced along her lips, 
attempting not to revert back to that old childhood habit her mother used to scold her for.

This task would be easier if the face to face she was having with the window wasn’t terribly one sided.

War paint from the previous night kept it's presence known. 
Strands of her dyed black hair drizzled down from the active cloud she referred to as a bun.

Funny how given the scenery, tights can be actual pants or pajamas.

Here, they were pajamas.

The windowsill would be a lonely place if it wasn’t for that old blue bottle mug her sister had given her.
 A few months, more or less, since they had spoken.
 Life catches up to people sometimes, and she knew that. 
 Still…

Her phone ruffled in the sheets.

eyes kept at the window, determined to better the single pane.

An alarm she forgot that she had set perhaps.

An idea that lived for a moment before her focus drifted on

steps of Silence made pace on the hardwood, quickly mapping the newly rented space until the land was consumed by no more than the echos of His steps 
B-line toward her to land a whisper in her ear. 
 
“…. “

The tickled ear jerked her neck away from the window throwing illuminated sheets into her vision.

She rose towards the bed.
Gripped her 5in screen
Dismissed the alarm.
Hunted down her favorite playlist.

*play*

1988 Senior Year at Garvey High
Where all the guys were corny
But the girls were mad fly

Bass kicks.
the dinner bell home

Her body began swaying in the breeze of the hefty set rhythm. 
Hands took form of the rhyme, exaggerating the curves of each line rolling into the next.

It took her.

Back to that 88’ 4Runner 
Riding copilot
Seatbelt cutting at her neck.
 bass box kicking her seat for more room. 
clearing her throat waiting for her dad to pass the mic. 
Her father was far better at imitating Phife.
So she was always Tip.
An assignment she did not take lightly