There's a ghost in my house. I hear her singing.
A little girl. Why is it always a little girl?
The light through the window is barely enough to see by, but the sky outside is very pale. Clouds
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deep think to the ceiling
I hungry the biscuit tin
lazy the sofa
watch an old war film—in each shot a horse dies
I worry a text
riot emojis
laugh and cry and laugh and cry
until I'm all wrung out
sometimes I feel a compulsion to fall in love
ponder the beauty of jointly planning a life
sometimes I feel a burning need to tear open
the car door at high speed
just to see what happens