My clothes itch and my hair is four days old

I sit with the silence and pray i’m alone

When I drink from my cup I am careful to invoke prose

I find myself on salty waters where no love grows

If I start to sink I grip the water of my closest acquaintance

It slips through my hands like the sand below

I breathe deep and allow it to fill my flesh, my bones

A patient onlooker hears my prayer and ...

My wealth tended to precede me, although that was to be expected from a town the size of Hansville, Washington. It was hard to be bothered by the town talk in a place so beautiful; adorned with dense, lush forest accompanied by a coast plagued by biting winds that made you realize a new appreciation for warmth.

I suppose my name is of importance to my story, I am Clarissa. I grew up on the E...