Emily Murdoch

My life's a tangle of past and present, like two separate puzzles with their pieces tumbled together. Nothing fits.

I know so many words. It's perplexing to come across so many I don't.

I take my hand back, like a leaf letting go. It hurts too much to hang on. So why does it hurt so much to let go?

My sister don't talk much. When she does, it's only to me, in moth-winged whispers, and only when we're alone.

My emotions swirl like leaves caught in the breath of a dust devil, and the only thing I can seem to hold onto is the anger.