While I lay there motionless, a billion beautiful butterflies took off from my field, their two billion pairs of gentle wings cracked a windstorm into my painstakingly manicured landscape, and with them they steadily carried away the shattering pieces of my perfectly planned life.
200 feet below sea level.
January 13, 2015. I’ve left Seattle for Brooklyn and found myself further away from the end than when I started. It’s 70 degrees and I’m caught between two lives 200 feet below sea level in a place called Death Valley. I haven’t worn a bra in days and there’s no one to stop me from eating too much candy.