family

About family

You are the doll. Perhaps porcelain, fragile and cold, with glass eyes that never blink. Or perhaps yarn, soft and frayed, stitched with a smile that has never faded. Either way, you wait on the shop shelf, silent… watching. The air smells of dust and old wood. For years, no one has touched you. People pass by, glance at you, then quickly look away. They don’t hear you. They don’t see you. but then... eliza... a 4 year old. who likes dolls. yea.. goodluck.