Time unspun into textures, the wood against her cheek, the cotton of her sweats against her damp skin. Colorful circles brightened and dimmed behind her eyelids, salt dried on her face, and the muscles of her arms stayed locked around herself. Everything outside her room, outside the puddle she was in on the floor, it all melted away. Bitter used to do this inside the lost years, in those houses she didn’t remember anymore, curling and floating away until the pain wasn’t real anymore, until nothing was real and she was lost inside a kind of trance that bled smoothly into a halfway sleep. Hours
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