Writing Samples
We dress up, she wraps her scarf around me, the scarf is old, tattered in a chic way that only some can pull off without looking like an absolute mess. The scarf is not a deteriorating rag, its style. Clothes cover the wooden floor that's scutched from the constant rearrangement of items in her room. Her old dresser in the connor, on top lays a keyboard, a tangled knot of jewelry, sunglasses she never wears. Drawings, baseball cards, photos of people who've died long ago, treasured relics of a person she will never know. The dresser drawers slant out, just like the floor covered with clothes, the dresser drawers contain piled up clothes that drape out, creating a trail onto the floor. We play dress up. Her shoes; too small, she doesn't like mine, my gold slip ons, Y-3s; I found them at a thrift store, I like them- I never asked for her opinion. Her unwanted opinion doesn't bother me. I like the shoes. We wear knee high white socks, short skirts, furs, and see through tops. I don't usually wear jewelry besides my piercings. She wears a ecliptic bundle of mixed metals around her neck that she never takes off. When she sleeps the tangled assortment of objects that dangle from her neck irk me, does she not worry they'll choke her? Does she not care? I have fear and she doesn't. I think, and she doesn't. She's reactive, I'm reflective.