About A Girl

She had teeth like a broken fence and the sad face of a bloated goldfish. Her hands were softer than air and she had patience for only babies and dogs. She gamboled through life marking years with scars and schematics from projects and artwork gone both poorly and well. She made you forget about what couldn’t be. She reminded you to think less, like you used to. She had a way of looking through you with her big globby eyes as she’d take your memory and your soul and crush it to dust, filling hourglass upon hourglass with your silty remains.