Childhood Bedroom

Somebody’s sleeping in my bed. Their toes hang over the edge of the mattress and they have little black smudges under their eyes. They don’t quite seem like they belong under my rainbow blanket beneath my glowing stars and the artwork I’ve tacked up from school.

She left her suitcase on the floor with clothes pouring out and there are shiny new sneakers next to my beat-up boots. There’s a cup of cold coffee left on the dresser, too.

I poke her in the cheek. She says she’ll be up in a minute.