#facingsouth

[alabastermorning-blog]

The sweat on her upper arms had dried and her mouth, smelling of herbs and onions, rested against the warm sleeping flesh. The skin smelt like burnt caramel, with an echo of her father's breath somewhere underneath. He liked to eat his onions raw, for breakfast. She woke up and went to swim. It's almost eight but I'll go anyway.

[alabastermorning-blog]

'My father will most likely never meet me. And he will look at how I died with them and he will feel sorry because he will not know how happy I am. He will think my insides were black like those of the rest, and I will call him from where I will be and tell him 'No, Papa, one day I danced in a Tree costume and I was the happiest I'd ever been.'