What the hell, I’m doing it.
Behold the first of its kind. Find Us, Fucking Find Us, by moi. It’s even somewhat Halloween oriented.
Here we lie, side by side, wearing patterned blouses with dead dandelions grown up through our outstretched fingers. We watch the sky, the clouds, and we listen, ears trained to the sound of snapping twigs, children playing hide and go seek in the field nearby, and when it grows dark we wait for a flashlight to hit us, just so.
“Find us; fucking find us!” we say, until our voices fail us.
This is our missive.
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Originally published in Aoife’s Kiss.