by Kathleen Elizabeth
She’s dusting my shelves, and packing up my dolls, books, and toys as she goes. All I can do is watch from outside the window, disconnected from the woman by thin glass. I want to tell her to put everything back, to pull out my lace trimmed blanket and curl up on the floor between the bookshelf and the bed post the way I used to. She’s wrapping me away in brown paper and bubble wrap. She won’t cry for me because pushing me away is a way for her to start something new, something exciting and grown up. What the hell right does she have to push her childhood away before I'm ready to let go?
Kathleen Elizabeth is a student at Central Washington University where she's majoring in English and Musical Theater. She's working on a young adult novel and a screenplay and has no clue which one she'll finish first. (To read more of her adventures, visit her blog.)