#imupforit

How many homemade stickers had she covered it in so far. How often had she painted it. How many faces had it yet worn.

Her bucket.

Tired. Sleepy. She'd held it too long for its form to ever be cold; a solid ring around its middle as warm as her own body now as she held it tight against her.

The only bucket she'd ever need.

She was singing it to sleep. Humming, really, her voice too hoarse from disuse for much else. Music for it. For her? To fill the utter silence between her and the empty world around her. She hadn't reset. Not yet. She'd just wanted some time alone. Just a little more time alone...