She bled, the more she dissected each flickering image which flooded to mind and searched every corner of them for some kind of sign she missed. Something, anything, that could have warned her to be worried.

I’d lay there, no less small, but feeling very big. I’d breathe it all back into the earth until my hummingbird heart quit pounding like a sugar rush

I want to ask you where you go, but I know you’d never admit it. It’s okay, I get it: The dance floor is a piranha exhibit.

You keep seeds in your back pocket like throwing knives, in case of the need to be resilient.

I regret that I have reduced you to three digits; numbers illuminated on a scale. Becoming angry with you every time they rose as if that was any indicator of your worth