The basement is cool and smells like wet cement and dead insects. I am barefoot and walk into the laundry room where the cellar used to be.
In the sand, I dig with my toes. Above are spider webs. Egg sacks haphazardly strung on them like pearls.
There is no mirror here but I know what I look like. Broken.
I braid my hair and wish for the egg to split open, for life to crawl out.