papercut
trains no longer race on railroads
they crawl and push
remembering decades past when they ruled the land
There was a racket in the basement and she was terrified. Her heart started thrumming at her ribcage and her breathing slowed until she couldn't even inhale. Monsters didn't exist, Mother had said, but she didn't believe her.
You promised. Well, you didn't promise, not exactly, but you said we would and that implies a promise, doesn't it? You said we'd keep in touch, that when we grew up, you'd show me around Pairee and we'd laugh over our escargot for the entrée and sip on champagne for dessert in a restaurant and we'd--
It was pretty to look at and they assured herself that it would be pretty to eat as well. But she knew better. Inside her, down her throat and in her stomach and intestines, the fat would just pile up up up and she'd be ugly. She'd look like a monster. A hideous monster. She was not pretty like crème brûlée à la mode or chocolate gelato. Eating made her ugly and fat. So she smiled and said, "I'm not that hungry."
what was it to be considered his beloved?
she washed his clothes daily, fed him breakfasts and packed him lunches and pondered dinners--
the walls were painted white, no, not white. the walls were painted sea shell cream, the hint of blues and yellows apparent only after a second, third, scrutinizing look.
she wore a plaid shirt, black and red and hints of coral orange. it was a pretty shirt, very appropriate for the school setting, but her miserable expression did not compliment her wardrobe at all.
i won't go to prom. don't look down on me, the dress, the shoes, the limo--
god, the limo. as a person who is wary of authority figures and, usually, rich people, limos are not something i want to see often in my life.
i always wanted to backpack around the world.
(well, maybe not always and maybe not backpack)
but there's something quaint about having your worldly possessions on your back -- like a turtle! -- and discovering new places, new people, new things...
remember the time that you used to sing,
the time that you used to cry, to feel, to hurt.
remember those times fondly, because at one time, it meant something.
remember those times and don't forget.
remember those times and move on.
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