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Ask Erin how she got here

Ask her how she went from stiff collars and pointed heels to this in less than a year


They’re in a sunflower field

They’re in a sunflower field, and the sun tangles in Holtz’s hair and glints golden, and they’re dancing


The walls of Holtz’s lab are Van Gogh yellow

The walls are yellow, and the ceiling is sky blue, white clouds swirling and tumultuous


Holtz spins around and around and around

She spins with her hands raised to the sky, and Erin spins with her, hem of her white sundress billowing


Van Gogh has always been Erin’s favourite artist

Van Gogh and Holtz must see the world in a similar light, perfect idiosyncrasy, a toe dipped in reality


Holtz has a sunflower tucked behind her ear

She tucks a sunflower behind Erin’s ear, too, and she wears it with pride


There’s a sadness in Holtz, too

There’s a sadness, but she never sits still long enough for it to come into focus


They tumble into a clearing

They tumble and land on their backs, and they hold hands and shield their eyes and laugh


There’s a yellow line between Erin’s lane and Holtz’s

There’s a yellow line, but the road ahead is completely clear, and Erin is free


Holtz outlines cloud formations with the tip of her finger

She traces the outline of a giraffe, a smile, a duckling, a sunflower, and then Erin kisses her


Love brought her here

Love, and the pursuit of warmth on her cheeks, sunshine in her lungs, and the feeling of Holtz