sixteen april
ten : thirty-five a.m.

i turned over, wrapped my tapestry sheet around me, and lay with my head next to the window. everything smelled like wet logs, like a campfire put out for the night after marshmallows and stories and secret admirers on the third floor. i closed my eyes and listened to their voices and the potomac being blanketed with fog.

music : "we've got boxes" by les savy fav
literature : nothing
fixation : hands