To the tune of a song you'll never hear

Twiddling feet.
Hanging moss, suspended from trees, frozen in a motionless sway.
Blue sky, no clouds.
Burning sun, no shadows.

Fingers typing, clicking against qwerty keys,
writing the deep emotion of others,
but as empty and as hollow as the cold metal desk rod pressing into her thigh.

There's the smell of coffee,
stomach rumbling,
thinking about fish tacos and churro sticks with chocolate.
Text messages asking for help,
but she can't provide it.

Trapped in a desk.
Trapped in her mind.

Empty, apathetic,
cold, unfeeling.
Dissociative from the whole world.

White shirt, dark brown hair with blonde highlights.
Green jacket with blonde hair.

Changing faces, lectures, desks.
Never the change in me.