Her arms lay on her chest, resting on the powder blue blanket that was tightly wrapped around her legs and torso. Both hands balled into little fists, rising and falling with her quick and steady breaths. Those eyes roamed and absorbed the features of my face, her pupils slightly expanding and contracting, resting a tick or so, and then moving on for a new focus. The pink t-shirt gave the watery blue of her eyes the captured light of a fading twilight. Between them, her nuk pulsed in quiet, irregular bursts, followed by the slight sound of exhaled air pushed from her tiny nose. Her fine, barley-there hair, was wetted with the clean side of the washcloth used to wipe the remains of her cereal from her face. Styled with a sweeping motion by two calloused hands into a temporary mohawk, it complemented the brown bison skull printed on her shirt. Her world became pinched; fading from sight as her eyelashes intertwined, like her little existence has done with my soul.
No comments:
Post a Comment