i. The closest I’ve gotten to flying is being lifted by a rolling wave that peaks just before it breaks. You are carried gently downward, watching the ocean unfold itself onto the shore.

ii. If I were to describe a stomach ache, it would be like fruit rotting in your gut. A fast forward of something decaying, splitting open in the heat. Each blip in your belly like the turgid body of a plum growing hot and bloated on the pavement. 

iii. It will be harder to kill my darlings than expected. After critique I know I will have to deconstruct what I’ve written. I know I will have to sacrifice certain pieces and it will hurt to do it. I’m being a baby about it. I’m out of steam. My shoulders haven’t been this tense since I played club. 

iv. “Gaslighting: a form of mental abuse in which information is twisted or spun, selectively omitted to favor the abuser, or false information is presented with the intent of making victims doubt their own memory, perception, and sanity.” Twelve years old and unraveling like a ball of yarn. My whole goddamn life. 

v. 120 sit ups