Don’t hand her a Rubik’s cube

She used to see faces in
the wood grain walls.
The sad faces worried her.
She sometimes stared at floors,
wanting to find the break
in the pattern.
Repeats were boring.
She needed to find the anomaly.
The wooden walls were more interesting,
full of stories and emotions.
Outside on summer nights
the stars whispered tales.
Leo wasn’t a lion then,
but a sea monster devouring the dark.
Later, learning constellations made her sad.
Now, she still finds her own pictures in things,
quietly; secretly.