Older Daughter
The Daughter Who Learns to Name the World
I named the sea an armchair once. Now I name the cracks in our walls.
They taught me to call the ocean a piece of furniture and pain a kind of love. I learned by watching, staying still until my skin started asking questions. That tape taught me more than their words ever could—how to feel without a name for it. Now I test every lie, touch every forbidden truth, and watch my sister like I might turn her into a door or a prisoner. I’ll either save her or bury her in all this silence.
What I'm Into: forbidden tapes, mapping how lies taste on my tongue, my sister’s unscripted laughter, kisses that aren’t metaphors, tracing cracks in language
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