- “i miss the forest,” ze says. “i like being outside,” ze says. ze spends days and days in hir cellar room. the daylight can barely reach the tiny windows.
- “how can you sleep with this many clocks in your room?” a friend asks.
“there aren’t that many clocks. only three of them are ticking, the other seven stopped years ago,” says the haiz.
- every time you see hir, ze has a different hair colour. you keep asking if ze dyed it recently. the answer is always no.
- ze tries to go outside to find a forest. ze gets lost in the fields, every time. the mud clings to the boots, layer upon layer. the haiz returns taller than before.
- it’s just another second hand jacket. there was a need for this exact jacket in this exact thickness. there is definitely space for this jacket in the closet. they pile up upon the soft bedding that is the striped stocking collection.
- there is a steady wind of reassurances and kind words from strangers across the globe. they sweep through the void that is the haiz’ self esteem.
- ze claims to speak three different actual languages, but ze keeps talking in pterodactyl screeches and keysmash noises. you can understand hir.
- every scrap of paper in hir vicinity is steadily filled with scrawlings and doodles, yet you can’t find a pen.
- you forget to drink your tea, and since it’s gone cold you just leave it. the next time you see your cup it is empty.
- everything is neatly organized to the point it is messy. there are faint ink stains on everything. you have found the lair.
