"a willow tree. instead of branches there are phone cords that bounce in the wind and have no connection outside of them. a girl under the tree, drinks champagne through a straw. she grabs her stomach...ache! fear! empty! how can something ache and yet be empty at the same time. she makes fishy faces as she sucks down the rest of the bubbly. the phone cords lend a wiff of plastic as they blow back and forth.
don't talk to me
don't talk to me
she says silently, glaringly, at no one.
she giggles a champagne giggle, picks an apple from a phone cord. CHOMP!
the bite rumbles the earth.
she smiles as though she just took someone's virginity. a man she did not love for that matter (WOMAN?!)
she throws the apple away
whatgoodisknowledge
and smoothes out her file folder beige dress. more like a pillowcase with a hole for the head and little arms.
short, just hiding the secret.
the dres is nothing in comparison to her goldilocks. they trap in the sun and use it like lazers against walls and doors and dimensions.
she walks through these walls. like swimming through vinegar.
her feet pad down clumsily as she walks down the path, away from the tree phone, leaving an empty bottle and broken conversations of past loves.
she will leave it now (don't take it back!) to find someone. someone to not talk to and not look at but feel and hate and need.
Don't call her Alice she'll rip out your heart<3."
