Alice

Could we not run away to a creaking attic, hanging over the sea by a spider web string? Speak in a flourishing tongue of dust and shadow, gleaming queens of childhood wisdom. We cut our paper hearts and paste them on the wall cracking with hysteria. I can see her rosy cheeks sparking, a gas lamp overhead. Could we not hold hands and watch the ceiling disappear into shimmer, gazing up in reconstructed antique frocks and red high-heeled shoes? You were in my soul long before I met you. My little friend, your pen writes words that sear. I’ve followed you down the rabbit hole, as the world crashes into pocket watches and dated school books. In an attic with walls that whisper and paper hearts that dissolve into jasmine mist, I find myself loving you.