pink and salty.

I lick my lips and feel the split place they bled earlier (she was here, she was here!).  I shift my body and the residual moistness between my legs makes the fabric stick (she was there, too). My eyelids droop from waking up in the night and chomping as efficiently as possible on granola bars (shh, she’s here) and I think about koosh-ball trees and shallow clear cool oceans and old women wishing and little girls blowing bubbles and soft butterfly kisses on every inch of my skin (oh, oh, she’s here…).

Now I’m at my mother’s computer and my dog is snuffling for a walk and my sister is watching TV and she’s not here anymore.