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Mar 2020
Sunlight streaming through tinted windows falls on sticky fingers and butterfly lashes. Melodies sung through an orange peel smile stir her to dance, the unraveled hem of her nightgown brushing against the kitchen floor. She knows that bruises tend to fade and that cuts tend to heal so she cakes her knees with dirt as she tries to grasp the top leaf of an oak tree. Sun warmed footprints follow her into the house, and when the earth smells like it’ll never stop raining, she crawls under the covers clutching a flashlight and a cardboard covered book.

She was helplessly human. I miss her.
M
Written by
M  15/Cis/NYC
(15/Cis/NYC)   
80
         Fawn, Traveler and DivineDao
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