notes from a person passing through

Written out of the weight I never got to name, dissociating. ╴╴╴╴╴⊹ꮺ˚ ╴╴╴╴╴⊹˚ It feels like I’ve been carrying every version of myself, folded into my own organs, quiet and still, as if breathing too loud might wake them. There’s a little girl under my ribs. She holds her breath…