a million moths.

she slept so much, she had us racing to her crib three times a day to check if she had died. but watermelon. she was different. she cried and cried from the moment she was born. kicked and screamed and punched, rolled on the floor and yanked on her momma’s pants until she got what she wanted. and she still does. except now, it’s her against the world. all grown up, all fire.