The sound of static lasts for a second,

And I see myself reflected in the blue screen, eyes half-lidded, slouching;

The camera focuses.

A dimple dressed in a tie-dye T-shirt, marker stains on her hands.

The voice behind the camera asks her age, and she holds up two fingers:

“Three!”

“Dance for me, princess?”

A lopsided twirl from the barefoot ballerina.

My finger hits pause,

The video is blurred by the bad recording, or maybe bad eyes;

My glasses were getting in the way.

I hear static in my heartbeat.

My wet finger presses play,

And I decide that salt is the taste of regret,

Just like the color blue.