DIARY ENTRIES

By Madeline Langan

03.13.22 googling how to console your friend on her twenty-first birthday in a pit of derealization and vodka crans. no results found.

03.15.22 clawing. carnations and clawing into a scratch in my throat that air perforates. tiny whistling. seamless. dry.

03.17.22 telling you i want a house on peach street, only because I like how it sounds. I like how a lot of things sound. tupperware. coal.

03.18.22 a twining plant of a woman, creeping tendrils desperate for the next softness. you always know where to find me.

03.20.22 floating, somewhere in the pacific, thinking of you sticking to my skin like salt. wondering if the water is getting warmer, or if I’m only getting used to it.