My Torin

by K. Webster

But my brain and body fight against each other like always.

Bless!

I’d say her laugh is soft like a feather fluttering along a porch floor. You want to pick it up and touch it, but you don’t want to ruin its journey. It’s perfect as it moves along, undisturbed. The sound is one that can’t be described. It just is. A sound that finds its way down into the very marrow of your bones. Roots inside and lives there. Quivers and quakes—a constant reminder that it’s there.

DROP THE FUCKING MIC! #BOOM

He sent you once as a promise. He sent you again as a gift.

**sniffles**