"I once tried to fit my head and whole body in a Pringles can, just so
someday when I die, it would be easier for them to bury me."

It was something Sonja would say.

Though I begin to forget who she is, how she likes to think, what she
likes to say and do. I am erasing her, though all we ever were is a
dancer's footprints on the beach.

We have never had a proper dance lesson. I wonder what kind of lie it
was when I thought of buying a pair of nice, soft pink ballet shoes. But
honesty runs in my blood and that's why each month I bleed for seven
days.

I am gluing the butterflies to the wall. They would glow in the dark and
do with us what the Blue Fairy do with Pinocchio.

None of us has ever lied until we found the ruby. I feel that her nose is
becoming longer, longer than ever.

It feels ethereal, like we are one but separated. Light as an angel's step. I
cannot stop thinking about the dance.

Going to the beach, while the road is still moonlit.

Tonight the sky is clear. I can hear the crickets chirp. I am forgetting
how her voice sounds, how her hair falls, how her eyes open and close. I
think it's because I might have defenestrated her.

That is how the curtain insists to stay in red.

"I want to marry my earphone."*

I wonder if it is also something Sonja would say. I only remember her
as a yellow thing, small as sprout and dead as bark. She tried a lot to
kiss some metal and cold liquids, but her lips were too unreal and her
nails would not ever grow long.

I think she fell and broke a whole skull.

It is always our dream to be the sand.