merryperry
even though she knew it was a lie all along she couldn't help but cry, just because everyone else knew that sometimes you have to break the rules. but she sank her fingertips into the rules as if they were a crevice on the sheer rock face she'd been climbing since she was born and closed her eyes.
i want to make a big wall of prints above my bed. a wallpaper of 4x6 memories and places i'll never see again and moments i could never recover. a quadrilateral collage of the past.
patent leather shoes with sparkly pink socks and new-demin-blue capris with the sequin fringe. "i wouldn't tell you it looked good if it didn't, sweetheart." okay, mom.
buttermilk sunlight filtering through crispy, dying trees' fingers. soft piano chords and gripping mugs of tea with cable-knit-mitten-ed fingers.