The oasis was never real, was it, hopeless traveller of the carvings in the heart?

Sand was sticking to her ankles, travelled up to her legs, circled over her stomach, wrapped around her throat, and engulfed her whole head.

Hey. It’s Morgana, leave a message at the beep.

She wouldn't pretend her voice could handle an empty screen. Energy bars filled the silence of we love you, Raaha, of course we do.
There was no house waiting for her to come home to.
When experiencing butterflies in unconventional colour palettes, lock your heart away and pour gasoline over it.

Salt streams broke through her dessert. She had risked it all for her fata morgana.