Brown Bird XXXIV

I hate that look. I was constantly playing catch-up. I’d clean the floors, the walls, the blankets, and in no time it’d all be filthy again. I’d be stepping on grains of sand and dirt with bare feet. I’d see droplets of dried drool and food crumbs. There’s nothing left for me to clean. The floors just sit there, staring at me. I didn’t think I would miss the dirt, but I do. God, I miss the dirt.