a girl with shoulder-length hair walked through the room and everyone stared at her like sunlight. she wore sunshine sweatshirts and smelled like fresh paint, but she felt as though she were nothing. her favorite color was yellow, but convinced herself that she only loved crackled smoke and clear alcohol. I smiled at her beached hair and freckled top lip because in her hands, she carried light that filled the chlorine-stained air. at night she looks in the mirror, stares through her skin, through her marrow and bones, and watches her soul and condemns it there. she sees nothing, no pigment, not even black. according to her, she isn't even good enough for that. so, she paints her nails with yellow polish, wears yellow hoodies, yellow socks, to remind her of the sunshine, and in hopes that maybe one day, her soul will be yellow again, too.