"You need to figure out who Brooklyn Miller is when she's not trying to choose between people."
Here it is. Without a name attached to me, I cannot tell what shape I take. All these years, grown now, I shaped myself by who stood near - by how Jayce lingered, by Daniel's sharp edges, by what my mother needed, by the way Ella held me up. What remains when no one leans on me, picks me, waits for me?
Sick day claimed with an email light on details. Nobody pushes back when I say it is for my mind. The hours drift by inside these walls, shifting spots - couch, then table, then sheets Pages of the letter loop again and again, letters losing shape like smoke.
A cup steams on the counter, untouched. Out here, thoughts spill onto the screen only to vanish with one keystroke Walking back and forth across the floorboards, moving through rooms I've lived in since winter, though they hold no mark of me. The walls stay blank, much like the messages / never send.
Three o'clock hits.
