dear stray eyelashes, ladybugs, dark tunnels, wishbones, dandelions, pennies, shooting stars, 11:11, and birthday candles, when will you do your job?

"they told us that we needed therapy, as if medication and tainted words could fix broken toys."

Quinn scribbles tainted emotions across thin layers of white paper. But to who? To someone who blinks once, sees her, and blinks again-just to make her disappear. To someone who sees her as a symbol of the ocean. To someone who thinks the ocean is disgusting and hideous, filled with trash and pathetic wandering fishes. To someone who believes that Quinn needs to be a size zero to be labeled as 'beautiful.' If she isn't, why in the world will anyone care to love her? She's disgusting. Worthless. An enormous sailboat that makes the world sink. But how long will it take until she sinks herself?

A collection of pieces of my mind and memory I can convert into lines of metaphorical words, enjoy.

Charlie doesn't speak, so he paints.