𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚓𝚊𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚗,,,𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚎

The pages of this book have begun to collapse amongst themselves. Victimised by the cushion of my bedroom mattress, a sleeping agent soothing restless mornings. Analyzing the wear of the book in a diluted shine of a rising sun, an orange hue from the stained wood barricading my window, light consuming the divots on the page. Riding the dunes of clumped light, chasing the shadow that obstructs the content. Rings of undigested coffee wrap along the back cover; the paper cup is simply for show. Fawn— who paints the sum of my white blouses—continues to maintain appearances. I existed within the spine of her writing prior to the corners folding into the clutter in my bag. Abandoning the story 10mm before rejoining the book’s rear— a conclusion materializing in the physical.