#dark softness

Scratches in the dirt suggest there was still fight left in him before his heart was laid to rest. The marks slowly become erased as the rain falls into them and muddles the area with his blood. The woman stands with legs locked together, she had just witnessed a grotesque wrenching and pulling of the most vital organ out of what was her body. She feels light, tense, and a sense of humor at all of the pain that she had thought would be. The rain is clearing, but for a moment she sees the sun wavering in a clouded sky. She looks at where the heart she once grew was and finds it replaced with swirling pink and lilac, no longer hurting or pulling her astray. Her purpose is clear, her life is ready to be lived, and the edge of oblivion is now just a nightmare step back from and reminisce upon as if it were always this easy to laugh in the face of. Does a woman need to be strong in the face of adversity? Does she live with grace and beauty following her trail? Does a heart, a mosquito, or a dragonfly hide from the rain?