She asked as she sat staring at her screen
Keenly aware that something inside was…
Aching and possibly
Breaking
She wants more. But more of what?
Less of this? What would that look like?
Would it be pink and fluffy and smell of candyfloss
Or would it be dark and dank and smell of mould
She must know. Now.
She’s growing old. In the way that kids do. Way. Too. Fast.
But she cannot
Will not
Refuses to
Accept that this
Is it