Day 37

Stacking earrings, the rings of them touching just slightly as they fall downward, loop on loop on loop through a ridge of cartiledge

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Day 37

Day 36

A crayon rolls beneath the table, the adult crouches, and on all fours loses half their life, maybe more, groping in the dim cavern of the desk. A ghost hand, creeping out to meet theirs, running translucent fingers along the carpet in search of Ruby Red

Day 36

Day 33

The glug of a sink, as the plug is pulled. The gurgling pop of the thing coming out, drawn back by an infinitely powerful meteorological force. A cyclone of dish water forms, whirling until it too slips down the depths of a kitchen drain

Day 33

Day 31

Now I’m hellbent of finding who people are, at least on the surface. Who their voices are, who their legs are…She’s a Gwendolyn, her black hair glossy, parted at center, twisted back and pinned past the temple. With that length that shields the shoulder blades and creases the body in the center.

Day 31