A root, pale as a blind worm, curls toward nothing. Hari sniffs it. Tastes of mother’s milk gone sour .
They dig. Fingers split. Sand turns to shale.
The sky is a bruise three weeks old. Hari kneels, pressing an ear to the ground.
HARI "Not Saika. Just a weed with regrets."
Emotional synesthesia. Though they cannot cry, they taste others’ emotions as metallic or fruity notes. Grief tastes like rusted iron. Joy like unripe persimmon.
A root, pale as a blind worm, curls toward nothing. Hari sniffs it. Tastes of mother’s milk gone sour .
They dig. Fingers split. Sand turns to shale.
The sky is a bruise three weeks old. Hari kneels, pressing an ear to the ground.
HARI "Not Saika. Just a weed with regrets."
Emotional synesthesia. Though they cannot cry, they taste others’ emotions as metallic or fruity notes. Grief tastes like rusted iron. Joy like unripe persimmon.