the puddle’s full of bugs. the warm weather always carries some insatiable itching; bug bites or thawing. you only got hugs after punishments, only felt god when you cried. now you’re running, arms bruised in the mornings. it feels like a conversation with your father, doesn’t it? good Christian girl, I also kept my hands off everything but the back of my tongue. the first time I saw my legs could carry me faster when I dressed less modestly, I learned more about my dad’s god than He ever told me.