maelyn

There, on the shelf in my attic, hugged by the pictures and drawings my sister had created, these two shoes sit surrounded yet alone.

Dear Jo March,

I walled myself in with paper three days ago. I used my old fashioned-blow torch to melt the door of my office shut, and pressed my desk and my chair up against it.

you are every eyebrow raise

every smile

frown 

and concealed smirk 

you can't help but show 

on your canvas of a face

when observing you