The Sound of Regret
…the wind tunnel of a hypothalamus…
Criticism roars in the wind tunnel of a hypothalamus wiped clean of kindness. When she cups her hands against her ears they can’t contain the spillage. It’s an oil slick of negativity that clings to the fine hairs on her skin. The driveway stretches to the front door of her house like pulled hot taffy.
Inspired by the prompts at Zathom: roar, driveway