There is a hole in the wall. I don’t always see it, blinded by the sunlight from the window, but when you move, the light moving with you, I see that the hole is there – behind you, hidden, in the wall. For what it’s worth; do you see it, too?
It felt similar to tearing out a piece of hair by its root. That was when she realized the plants were growing from her body – not on it. Whilst asleep, she had become a human flowerbed. She feared she would vomit right there, on the bathroom floor, seeds and chlorophyll galore.
His hair drew me to him, so curly and so soft. You don’t suspect something like that to turn on you – why would you? – which is why I never felt the curls worming their way into my heart until the day that they hardened, becoming screws, drilling me to pieces.