There's laughter in another room. It starts off quiet, and grows until it rumbles and rambles through the house. It floats like a ghost into the corners. It rises like heat. It lingers like the scent of good cooking.
The laughing comes from them. Those girls who grew inside me. Their arms and legs and sweet, sweet cheeks. Their angles and edges and peculiar ways.
There are pillows piled in the middle of their bed. Prints and rainbows, clowns and pink... piled and placed specifically for their dolls to have spots all their own. A world in pillows.
Malls, bedrooms, beaches, buildings, amusement parks. All pillows, all laughter, all day.
I'm on the other side of the door. I place my hand on the knob and change my mind.