#weird gf

One of her mouths -- the one between her shoulder blades -- I think it has its own consciousness, but I’m not sure. It doesn’t eat or drink, really, but it has rows of sharp teeth and a long tongue. Most of the time she keeps it closed, but sometimes she can’t keep it from singing. The sound it produces is almost imperceptible, like a high-pitched warbling sound, but it creates the strangest reaction. After it sings its song, there’s a response -- from who or what, I don’t know, but it always comes from above and sounds like a chorus of humming and strings and falsetto tones. She claims it’s the music of the spheres, the stars themselves.

She’s always at the back of the room away from the gaze of others. She sits at the back of the class, though I don’t think she’s even in this course. She’s at the back of the coffee shop but never gets up to order. She’s at the back of my closet wearing my hoodie. She’s at the back of my mind whispering things I can’t understand, but make my heart skip.

Her heart has fangs. I can hear it gnashing if I hold my ear to her chest.

She keeps a little garden of bones in the nearby woods, and makes sure to water them every day. Sometimes they wilt and die, but one has seen surprising growth in the past few weeks. It has to be almost eight feet tall by now and she thinks it’ll start bearing fruit next spring.

Her Demons killed her once, and she has been training ever since to ensure it doesn’t happen again.

We bonded over our mutual fear of heights. For me it started after watching Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo as a child, and for her it started after she fell off the roof of her childhood home and shattered into a thousand pieces.