as a tiny child it was not how short her fringe was or how fat her arms were that bothered here. instead what bothered her was finding a sense of reality in a world that seemed unreal. these thoughts passed through her tiny mind with exponential frequency until, amidst perverse daydreams and the pure, hollow sound of questioning, these thoughts plagued each of her conscious hours.
i am still a child, i think. except now i know what it is i'm seeking. i know the vague answers to my questions. finding it/them, though, will be something else entirely. i'm not sure i'm ready for the momentous discovery, or to be rid of my coping mechanisms.
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