Cotton balls are small and seem weak. They hover over your palm and float for a split second when you toss them in the air. If you layer five of them and try to pull them apart, it’s not easy. You might need to shift the small pile to align the fibers so that they will tear. Cotton is white. Pure white. Unless it’s marred by mascara or colored with blood. The contrast of dirtied cotton is stark. Cotton is fibrous, like clouds. It is wispy and stringy and fat and fluffy at the the same time, but it is more wispy than fluffy. The fluffiness is an illusion. A bag of cotton balls looks fluffy. A single cotton ball looks weak. Cotton balls smell like babies and hospitals. I had cotton in my cheek yesterday after I had a tooth pulled. I won’t tell you what that cotton looked like. I’m kind of pissed at cotton right now because of the role it played in my day yesterday. I’m not impressed with cotton at all.