sarah is mostly a poet and sometimes a story-teller. she likes to delve into heartbreak and break beautiful things.
I'm climbing down a cliff, rocks eroded to form a natural sort of ladder, each stepping stone jutting out too sharply to be considered a safe or easy place to land. I've been walking for hours trying to find my way back to civilization; you told me once that to wander aimlessly was a stupid thing to be considering, especially in a forest where I haven't hiked before.
She lowers the blinds,twists the cord between her fingers until the slats have narrowed and there's no space in between. The room is darkened, twilit in the brightest time of day and she tugs at the sleeves of her business jacket, steps out of the corporate heels and frees her hair from its office-appropriate twist.
Here is your hammer and chisel; over there, you will find a slab of marble. You may begin. It's remarkable, isn't it? It's deeply plain, such a perfect blank canvas for you to start making your mark upon. It's ready when you are; oh, I can see the thoughts as you circle around it, working out where to begin and how to start. Once or twice you start to raise the chisel, even apply the hammer just in preparation to begin the carving - at the last minute, you stop.