pariza devani

we sit in circle

We sit in a circle—no edges, no corners. We expand, but we never form a cube. It’s been us since we were three: scraped knees, curled hair, fights over fruit, stolen sweaters, sneaking out, first drinks, first paychecks. Each memory a fragment scattered across each other’s rooms, tied together by an invisible string. Pinky promises we actually kept. We fought through hell, even fought each other, but we always returned to the circle.