P R E S E N T D A Y
every night i go to sleep with pristine clean hands.
it's a tradition.
a disease, some would say.
i scrub and scrub and scrub until the skin starts peeling and threatens to bleed. and every morning i wake up covered up to my chin in blood, screaming until someone comes in and holds my pristine palms to my face to show me that it was all a dream.
it was all a dream.
was it all a dream?
YOU ARE READING
when stars bloom in khan yunis
Romance𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩? in which a half blind girl traces constellations between bombs and a deaf boy learns to sing © hobgoblinne, 2023.
