EveWorrell
The iron smells of pennies and lust as the wind rustles my hair and the train blazes by. I lean back into the grass as the passenger cars approach, grinning as I see a small child only, see me right back.
I lift my head into the breeze of fortune, and grin, knowing that no one can buy this.
writing since 2013 · 4 entries · 2 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Eve showed up.
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the words Eve reaches for
collagegrinpageabilityrealtryingwindunderstandeitherusuallypicturescolorrestthinkingprettierprobably