neelvar
Yellow walls were aglow with the pale dust of the morning fog. Her little lips were pressed to the glass walls distorted by the rain.
"Momma, I wanna go outside."
"Sorry, baby, it's raining."
"But Momma, that's why I wanna go outside."
she carried her radio everywhere she'd go, and the songs would buzz at her with a muted cry, like voices across a vast, murky-echo lagoon.
the limo lurked down the alleyways as if it wanted, for once in its life, to be invisible. i sat in the back seat, wasted and drunk on the shadows of the night, waiting for this reverie to fade into the cold sweat of morning, when i'd realize that i'd never cross this side of LA ever again.
i took a backpack full of books and tissues down to the woods, where i sat for an hour or four, pouring through all the tales i'd ever lived to find the one that would take me back to you, to find a word that gleamed in the sunlight or some page-fold where i once paused to answer your call.