“So it’s true then. Isn’t it?”
Small boy said this, and clung like a bug to his bed post. Watching as ink seeped steadily out of his notebook onto the floor. The small boy picked up every wrecked up piece of alphabet and taped it to his face. Ink smeared, like jelly across his finger tips, as small boy spelled out “Simple” on his cheeks, “Anguish” on his ankles, and ” Animal” on every last joint left untouched. He was finished. Tiny, and ancient, human, and humble. The small boy smelled like a newborn thing.
“Pick up your things.”
girl said.
Small boy smiled some, and watched as ink slithered down her sides. Words had a way of washing her too. “obsolete” on her elbows, “silent” in the place where her sandals fit, and “extra” next to her handprints.
Words looked beautiful on her.
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