we break and come apart, come undone
remaining stoic and solid through grief and pain and uncertainty thinking that we have it all figured out, knowing that we don’t.
and a pretty blue vase that reminds us of sunshine crashes to the floor splintering into hundreds of light reflecting shards is our undoing. and we cry and flail and rage and it all comes out in a mess as we cut our hands picking up the pieces and the blood mingles with the sunshine,
and we realize that the wishing stars don’t just live in the sky, they are all around us flowing outwards and we are reminded of pretty pink dresses that twirl around our little girl legs as we spin dizzily, pain discarded for the pleasure of being in a moment that requires no thought.
and i miss coming here and letting the words fall in that dizzy dance that means nothing and yet somehow adds up to everything, a moment where pain is discarded for the pleasure of being in a moment that requires no thought beyond the click of the keyboard and i remember that words soak up blood and let the sunshine shimmer across healed skin.
“you must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you” (ray bradbury)
and these words inked across the frailty of pale skin, danced across the page of a well loved journal remind me again and again that reality lives in the swollen ache of my soul.