I was disappointed that [player] never got to see me in any cute clothes. I just know the others went out of their way on the weekend to impress him.
Ahaha, now I sound like that little whiner.
What I really need to say in this space is that the poem numbers are contingent on poem game play. Simple Sayori was the exception, only two in poem games and no swap. So it goes.
Oh, but one in the festival book.
Maybe her finest work. Honest. (On the previous page)
I wrote this one for [player].
Okay, everyone. Surely you didn’t miss the one she recited in the hallway while going to smack her head on a shelf? It was her performance tryout, too.
Probably the second-best thing she ever did in her short life. What was it again? Oh, yes … “My Meadow” … bittersweet.
(Ed. Monika lifted this from the initial publication in page Loose ends. Some people just have no shame – or a little devil inside of them.)
Between my feet ... The last remaining flower beckons to me. I twist the stem, freeing it from its roots ... Caressing the final joyous moment between my fingers. But to what end have I summoned this joy? For now when I look in every direction ... The once-prosperous field before me ... Is but a barren wasteland.