hm

But you are moving.

You are moving, every day. Every day you are taking another step. You are learning. You are experiencing.

There are things you have yet to learn. It will take time to get there.

Pressed Flower Wings

Hunger first came dressed in white, the pealing of church bells in her steps and the stench of foreign blood on her veil. The day Hunger died, the ugly cry of a baby pierced the silence.

I had dug my way out from where they’d buried me, deep beneath her ashes. I ate and ate and I cried. But nanny, my emptiness still bleed the color of her kin.

If only my heart had fell silent too, the day my mother died.

Death called us Licht, the first ray that left her womb and Nokto, the darkness that follows. We called her "mother", knees trembling with the sound of chattering hearts.

And when she says my name, oh when she says it, I try to block out her voice with my hands but I can still read it on her blood stained lips.

The way you spat my name up, mother, felt like love.