Raising a Clatter
She was a bright girl. Knew too much about too many things, but not enough to get noticed by anyone who really mattered. Maybe that was the problem. Then again, maybe there was no problem at all.
She loved him. It was inexplicable and mostly platonic, though he would have slept with her given the chance. She was pretty and men are usually willing. And she had moments of weakness and imagined many things that would never come true. Because he didn’t love her back.
Another man did, ardently. But nothing came of it. As is the case in most of these convoluted tales, it comes back to that circular nursery rhyme about the milkmaid who loved the baker who loved the seamstress who loved the sailor and so on until some moral blooms out of it, simplistic and a little fuzzy in translation. Like wild aster masquerading as cultured daisies.
It’s enough to make you scream.