What did you say when you fell through the breeze, landing broken – crushed bones, smashed up on the reef?

They find debris off the coast of australia and new zealand and they tally off the reasons that a scallywag would need them to run inventory mondays when the “open” sign’s not on, or to take vitamins depleted in the form of sexy salt and I have so much Im not doing; it extends towards infinite; I have a thousand story startings and a penchant for bullshit and it’s as true as it is fiction; it’s as vaguely superstitious as having both feet up while driving when you cross a railroad track.

Maybe she forgot her good luck charm, little thing shaped like a wing – left it home to be forgotten when they auctioned everything after deciding that was ballgame – call it done and let’s go home. A little atoll is an awful place to die on, all alone.

~ by perfectionatrix on March 5, 2019.

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