I'll grow my hair long, I'll forget your name. Which were you? This feels the same. But in the moment, I dissolve the blame and keep pushing in the pins again, and again, and again. I can't see your face. It's something to rely on. This doesn't deserve any grace if we're something to lie on. Peel back the surface to return the shame. Which one is this? Who's to blame? It's emergent. It's okay. It feels like everything I've wanted again. I can't see your place. It's something to rely on. I'll never deserve any grace. Three women, three flights. No one cares, goodnight.