|a tad old, but i like it. one day i'll get around to fulfilling old promises.|
Measured in YearsEliza is six and theres something unusual about the morning. The day seems to have forgotten to wake up. Its black outside the windows except the silver pools the streetlights leave on the pavement. She can hear a faint, familiar noise: her parents alarm, an ongoing stacatto rhythm that usually ends just after it begins. She goes downstairs in feeted pajamas, one warm thing in the dark house, one pink smudge in the somber white living room with its vaulted ceiling. She sees her mother sitting on the sofa in her nightgown, part of the pale triangles that lace the shadowed room.Measured in Years by are-bee-s
Eliza stands in the center of the carpet and her mother doesnt move and the alarm doesnt stop. At some point, her mothers head comes out of her hands. Sweetie, why are you up? she asks. Eliza crawls into her mothers lap, but she doesnt find the comforting circle of arms and steady heartbeat she expects. Instead there is a strange communicable urgency in
|I love a lot of things.|
i rolled out of at least two continents, but i'm not exactly sure where on each.|
i get really excited about everything, including but not limited to meeting people and making new friends, axolotls, drawing comics, otters, being in octs, puppies, and trampolines, even though i always twist my ankle when i get on one.
i have a habit of not capitalizing my letters.
i'm not sure what i'll do!