a bit salty justwrite

A skipping stone, like the ripples where I used to keep my reflection, without air but not drowning because the wind is moving too quickly to be caught and the holes in my net are too big, minnows dancing between my fingers and laughing when I catch only sand that I use to make ropes for hanging mobiles from the stars and pretending they've been there all along. I've been here, my feet sinking deeper into the Earth. When I reach for the daffodils growing nearby, they nod at my fingertips and turn the other way, catch sunlight and pour it out again because what else is there to do all day if you're a daffodil. I see you through the open window, dusting with a cloth that used to be an apron for a doll. I remember the rain came so fast we couldn't save her, had to watch through the doorway as the yard turned to mud around her face, and you clutched at my hand the next morning, dragging me through the fog like I'd be lost forever if I didn't come along. We found her then, and her hair is still brown like it was that night in the shadows, like the ones that are tied around my waist now, heavy, and the top of my head is barely visible if you're on the other side of the hill, picking daffodils like there will be more tomorrow, letting the bluebirds dart by your shoulders with their fists full of sand, my reflection fading into air.