wash your hands once. twice. rub the dirt from the crevices, the wrinkles on your palms smoothed. wash so the remnants of thirst swirl away.
get out of bed, sometime. see the meteors falling on the horizon, invisible in the light, their tails blazing and blazing. the sound is deafening.
eat two blues, one yellow, and three small greens. bitter, the capsule heads dissolving. hard.
crack the window open. for the brain. it is best known to reduce the bubbling of thoughts. swollen and bulging against the skull.
schedule a meeting. the phone hangs from the wall, the shadow from the cord spiraling. the receptionist’s voice on the other side cut in static from your own breathing — but dont go. talk. try to. please just. im so. can you. nevermind.
hang up.
seal your eyelids. the lashes knit together — so, so heavy. they told me that the things you cannot see do not exist. then why does this?
By Sophia Li