i was here (150)

i was here, she writes into the hard wooden floor. it's the ninth apartment she's lived in this decade, and she's lost count of how many times she has moved around before that. she doesn't remember when, but in the interim of the last eight places she developed the habit. it's always the same wording,… Continue reading i was here (150)

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folly (150)

my first folly was trying to understand. it came about in my seventeenth year, from a deep-seated need to pare down wildness into several tiny labelled boxes. i thought myself prepared; drawing the first answers only gave way to new ones. every answer i found was thinly covered, so obvious i couldn't understand why i… Continue reading folly (150)

necessity, 1.1 (150)

there's a bespoke bottle of perfume on my dressing table, unremarkable glass bottle all but blending into the wall behind it. i designed it a while ago, trying to pick out the various notes and fragrances that i felt best suited you; the ones that best reminded me of you, to be used when you… Continue reading necessity, 1.1 (150)

until later (150)

fifteen years, is the date always in place. somewhere on a computer, there's a calendar app with fifteen years from now circled. there's a tally, a countdown app that lets the date be selected and the days count down. it's plenty of time, so it gets shoved to the little box in the back of… Continue reading until later (150)

boredom (150)

the heart rate slows, oxygen and blood slower around the body. there's calm and calm precedes the onset of boredom. the mind is next to slow, lack of stimuli whirling down to a whittled spiral. and the artist sits at her easel, brushes in hand and a row of paint tubes lined up before her.… Continue reading boredom (150)

instability, 1.2 (150)

the wind wails through the cottage window, slipping through the tiny gaps that haven't yet been plastered over with glue. around me, the chill seeps in, the fireplace too weakly lit to do much good. under the wind, the fire dies down a little more; i place a screen in front of it, hoping to… Continue reading instability, 1.2 (150)

Vignette (7)

the ground is still hot to the touch, ivy burnt off the exterior walls and red bricking now scorch-black and gray. this was her doing, her playing at being the mad wife shut up in the attic without ever thinking about how to pull it off. curtains have been torn from the window-rail, flung out the window… Continue reading Vignette (7)