She spills milk, and drinks it off the floor.
Takes a bath it it.
She showers in the living room—
Everything feels…slightly out of place.
She sleeps anywhere she falls
On the asphalt or the tiles,
Ghostly drifting through the worlds.
Her body is a puzzle,
With a few pieces never fitting.
Tired but still here.
This is not a failure - this is feeling.
She asked herself:
“You never did anything wrong?”
We stumble like branches in the wind—
but never snap.
Not all the way.
Remain.
And in time we grow stronger.