She was sitting in my lap, small and warm and dense, maze book and crayon forgotten, twisting her head from side to side wildly, over and over again in a blur, and laughing, saying, this feels so weird!, and her hair felt like small soft paintbrushes as it flew back and forth against my lips and cheeks, light and cool, and she said, I'm getting it in my mouth, a stroke of hair, and I said, a stroke of hair?, and she said, yes, and then she said, I'm making a wind, and I felt it on my face.
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AuthorBitter Water
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. Archives
June 2019
Categories© Francie Nevill and Every Sweet Thing, 2017.
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