“This medicine might leave the taste of metal in your mouth,” they said.

 

My mouth is full of metal.

 

I'm sorry if I'm all a bit too much. It's all a bit too much for me too. I'm either dancing on top of the table or I'm curled up in a ball hiding under it. If I'm excited to see you then you'll know it. I'm sorry if I'm all a bit too much, I don't mean to be. 

 

I saw an angel today on the sidewalk. A tiny pair of wings knotted together in a tangle of bones. Either the Fates or some other odd person gave it a halo made of pine needles, and in the afternoon sun it glowed like an Icon. "Hawks don't care much for the wings," Kat said.

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When the wind blows these days I feel it in the top of my lungs and in my bottom teeth. I taste metal across the back of my tongue like I've drunk liquid iron and I try not to gag. I taste it even more when the wind blows, and I don't know why.


They say that even adult humans sleep better with the rocking movement a train. I guess we never really leave the time when we grew from a nothing into a person inside of our mother.


Three days a week I look at my 50% opaque reflection in the deep blue of the train window and think about how the adult world tries to crush everything childlike out of you. And as the trees and the fields roll by in morning and evening blue I worry that someday I won't be able to see the lights on the mountains anymore.

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