When the last curl turned loose
across her forehead she felt her inner wrists open up and offered everything
she had to the wolf moon. It was January. She knew everything would change once
the sun, hung in opposition, would pounce across her pillow.
It had been four years since she
woke up feeling alone. She welcomed the emptiness in her chest, the gnawing
from behind her ribs. Scrape of her clavicles and she lifts herself, starts a
fire, sneaks outside.
She feels lighter already.
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