Choosing Trajectories.

travelling time is easy. it's the getting back that's hard. the world blinks and everything is gone. sand under her fingernails. washed away.

she spends her days taming tigers with feathers and lace. her nights saving the world from drizzle and dandelion wisps.

it ends she supposes as weakly as it began. a grunt from a hoarse throat. am anchor grazing the bottom. as the boat drifts away.

that's the strange thing about dolls. they never speak, but always have so much to say.

that's what we are. isn't it. just dolls. wearing the clothes put on us. staying where we've been placed. saying nothing. while the words press against the stitches. that make us whole.

travelling time is easy. it's finding the beginning that's difficult. wings and cocoons all caught up in the worm. raindrops and snowflakes. all fall the same way.

down.