22 year old with an awful lot to say about everything. Opinions entirely my own unless I expressly say otherwise.
If you lean back far enough into the water, gravity claims you. I flex my ankles against the taps and lie there, floating, staring up at the hum of the light switch and the white of the ceiling. I can’t rinse away the cold.
He’s left the shutters wide open, and I can see the burnt grass stretch off towards the woods. There is nothing but the sound of crickets and the taste of red wine that I wish I had not drunk.