“I don’t know about this.” Maisie looks uncomfortable but follows me nevertheless.
We pick our way through the worn trail, littered with uneven rocks. “I do. I want this.”
I’m ready now. I wasn’t ready, before, but now I understand that I have to do it.
The trampled dirt gives way to craggy ground and the drop off comes into view. A stab of uncertainty hits me for the first time. But I push it...
Other people seem to love beauty. Color. The things that excite the eye, that stand out, that seem unreal. It’s different for me. I don’t like the word beautiful. It feels uncomfortable to me. Color is uncomfortable, new is uncomfortable. Beauty and wonder aren’t what I look for. I find comfort in the most basic things, the old, tired things, the unremarkable. The parts of the photo that your eyes...
I stand numbly in the freezing air. The cold wind taunts me, brushing my skin with the sting of winter. My cheeks must be red, irritated. The sky might be beautiful, moonlight cast through the bare branches above, if I was looking at anything. But I’m not, really. I’m not looking at anything. My body belongs to a faded statue, rooted to the ground in the middle of the night. I feel the snow throw ...
The truth that I tell you is this: I got out of bed. Which took only a moment. Unless you really want to know. Want to know the weight of the metal chains that tug when I force my body from its only reprieve. A reprieve that is lost, to the abyss and to the twisted version of my life that runs through my dreams. Maybe I would tell you what it’s like to look around and realize that I’m still alive....
My voice wouldn’t work. I’d thought about bringing it up so many times before, but actually doing it would make it all real. And I didn’t know what I would do if… he gave me the truth. I know the darkness that falls over his face when he thinks no one is watching, because it’s the same darkness that chokes me tighter every day. Maybe a different shade; the kind bred from a pit of grief. But darkne...
I am but a puzzle
Broken apart before the lid was lifted
By unknowing hands
For years the wrong parts
Forced unto each other
Jammed into ideas of the image on the box
Always undone or forcibly bent
The empty gaps lost beneath the table
Desperately destroyed
And redone
And destroyed once again
The ticking of the clock begins to fade
And the hands are older
Fingers maybe stronger
But it is not was...
Maybe the best thing about him is that I don’t feel like I need to try around him. I don’t need to force words out of my mouth, or over analyze his reaction to what does make it out. I mean I’ll overthink things regardless, but it’s just… alright to overthink around him. Because he knows that I’m always doing it. And he doesn’t judge me for it. At least based on the number of times he’s said that,...
