i've hidden you in the cupboard. in the back next to my sugarless cereals, as neither of you have proven to be very sweet. what's left in the kitchen? sticky countertops and stained wine glasses from two weeks ago. when a stranger's strong hands collide with the whole lot of my blonde curls, i'm closing my eyes to forget you. when a playmate's phone calls are silenced with my dirty fingers, i'm opening my eyes to check the time and you are still in the cupboard. four o'clock is a filthy time of morning and then, i am mourning you. i am hoping for breakfast but your face peeks out from behind the boxes and i'd rather starve. i'd rather lay in bed.