𓆝𓆟𓆞

dear diary, i’m afraid i’m gravely ill. it is perhaps times like these that one reflects on things past. an article of clothing from when i was young. a green jacket. a walk with my father. a game we once played. pretend we’re faeries. i’m a girl faerie. my name is laura lee. and you’re a boy faerie. your name is tita lee. pretend, when we’re faeries we fight each other, and i say “stop hitting me i'll die!” and you hit me again and i say, “now i have to die.” and then you say, “but i'll miss you.” and i say, “but i have to. and you'll have to wait a million years to see me again. and i'll be put in a box, and all i'll need is a tiny glass of water and lots of tiny pieces of pizza and the box will have wings like an airplane.” and you'll ask, “where will it take you?” “home.” i’ll say.