She is self conscious, she walks
without moving her arms, sucking her stomach in when she laughs. Her
legs do not seem to move from her hips. When she wakes up she looks at the pillow to see how much
eyeliner has been lost, she reapplies and puts her bra on under her
pyjamas then comes down to breakfast. I am dishevelled and
unsupported, my home hair cut feels suddenly obscene, an affront to
something I do not understand. She winces when I paint over chipped
nail polish.
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