no titleshe’s a human. or perhaps a clock, she’s not sure.no title
she is scribbled out with charcoal and her hands are holding small, pink elephants and a sun. sometimes she finds old post-it notes that still have the faint smell of fall and umbrellas, and hidden rainbows behind curtains.
she has dry lips that taste a little bit like salt and she wishes her name was
november. she spends too much time sitting on fourth floor making sandcastles in the sky. she is a comma. she wants a tree in her bed but instead she has a
cactus. she is soft arms and small teeth, small
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