frances eckhart // d6. cbd #1

frances 'feathyr' eckhart
to fly --

I held her hand the very last day, Jasmine, a bundle of brown hair and our matching blue eyes locked as I left. Adopted, at the age of sixteen to fill the void in the backyard, we were perfectly fine as orphans, my sister and I, and I was talented. Not adopted, chosen, the photo of us torn through the middle ripping our hands apart. 

Twelve years old, I lost my parents, and at fifteen I lost a sister- tragic. 

The ink of notes scrawled to never be responded to bled through the grooves of my skin, ("these aren't my sisters, Jasmine, and I don't care about the art-") and I send them to the old orphange I left behind with my sister's salt-water eyes tattoo'd to my mind. It's almost a water mark of mine, the water color backgrounds met with water-screams and three eyes to look back at. ("The hydrangeas are great, I wish I could send you them.")

She was adopted shortly after I was, and cigarette in hand, I buried the photo we tore - her taking the piece of me, and I the piece of her - near the river, and I gave up a year ago. Planted lilacs and hydras and- ("Jasmine, I miss you.")

I moved the fuck on. 

[ f.m.e. ; district six, sixteen, female ]