in the belly of a mountain lives a very little girl.
every morning as she wakes up she takes a sip of liquid pearls
and twirls swirls whirls through irresistable impulses and stalks. type, swipe up, check, repeat.
the macarons she tasted there were scrumptuous, very much like her, ambrosial and dainty.
it’s funnier as she wasn’t very social, but now she was as cordial as a lavender.
and yet york was foggy.
you could hardly see ahead of you, behind you, on your left and on your right.
cite your sourves said the academic integrity tutorial.
yes said the little girl,
i see the connection between your heroine and yourself.
i savour you and you are delicious.
let’s dissolve, x o x o