rendered_into_a_painting this should be rillian "i am no longer a fish, or i have been scooped up by birds," she said. we were sitting in her parked mini cooper by the road still under construction. frost had already begun to form on the inside, fillagree no one could ever make, patterns so intricate i could weep. i could smell incense that she had lit yesterday. there was fine dust on the dashboard. her cellfone rang. she checked the number and pressed it off. "we are rarely what we want to be," i said. i asked her to start the car, but she was on empty, so we went inside the convenience store. i bought her a red bull. i know she won't smile easy. at the check-out, the punkgirl told her she liked her hair and she said thanks and that she cut it herself. bags straight across the front. i thought she was always a bird, but i didn't tell her that because she hates birds. i pushed the door open for her. "birds wish they could swim," she said, and she downed the little can in one motion. i didn't respond because i had to think about that. back in the car i said, "the ocean is the sky upside down." i drove her back home as snow coated the roads. the flakes swirled against the windshield like a pillow fight. two days later she made me a card with a picture she had painted in watercolor and those last words on the front in letters i wish i could make. 031227 what's it to you? who go blather from