Funny girl writes sad things to ease the existential dread.
In the early hours of the day, we often danced. Or maybe that was a dream. I remember spilling hot coffee onto the carpet, and it produced the shape of something reminiscent to a foreign country. I linger too long in the backyard, stumbling amongst the hanging linens, and felt the warm breeze of a long awaited spring. I drifted lazily along in the sun, humming and accepting the small kisses of warmth on my eyelids. I felt like an odd pet sometimes, a caged reptile, a moth on a leash. How the neighbors must have viewed it; a wide eyed girl dancing in the grass, marketing a short life on both of her arms, laughing and laughing. We used to speak in a secret way; our eyes exchanging messages, whispers of language residing in movement.
- Third Place in SFS 8: Pear Tree Challenge
IntervalsThird Place in SFS 8: Pear Tree Challenge
In the kitchen, I heard your mother sob into the dishes, soapy tears began to run down the drain after the evening’s chores were finally complete. She's spent this last week with the same hollow air that the winter breeze whispers in the dead of night. I swear I can hear her bones as she moves from room to room, so fragile and disassociated. She looks to me often, eyes wet and red with grief, challenging me to offer her comfort. I find this intimacy with someone so unhinged truly frightens me.