Buckets of water I pour on my head; my vision gets blurry./ "The blurrier, the merrier", my mother said.
Years later, when I would no longer live in my parents' room and grow to have my own,/ I would disregard all the hours I had spent by the window staring at beetles hiding.
Buckets of water I pour on my head; my vision gets blurry./ "The blurrier, the merrier", my mother said.
Years later, when I would no longer live in my parents' room and grow to have my own,/ I would disregard all the hours I had spent by the window staring at beetles hiding.
