i’m looking at myself in the cracked mirror of the gas station’s toilet, smiling at the light rippling from the cavities of my body. some days i feel as fragile as porcelain and others as unfeeling as concrete, and age has become but a number on the candles i blow out every year. some days i crave a breathing object to surround my words with and others, i weep for more letters from the milky way. i settle back into my skin and wonder how to overcome the hurdles― airplane phobia; academic failure; life vision blurring. my days are filled with wandering through empty halls of dead museums pondering over the meaning of HER expressionless features, as i fill my brain with aimless trains that wreck my sanity. these make me want to lie in the pond and allow the moss to seep into my lungs; i want to play tag in a cramped store selling China and glass and even more, i want to feel what it’s like to feel the dandelions under my toes as we dance to music only we can hear. we will smear the blood on our lips to our cheeks and laugh at the prim and proper girls. we will occasionally come apart and put each other back together, leaving a few pieces out. we will trespass into abandoned carparks and lie there waiting for a car to run over us, until our vision turns blueish grey. this is how we will slowly acquire the lost fragments and this is how i will write myself a new body.