how peculiar it is that her memory is biased in all the wrong ways; that she can recall vividly the tenderness of bruised knees or how bright the welts of punishment shined on the nape of her neck were, yet she can never seem to bring forth memories of how the sun looked as it arrived over the hills to breathe morn on a chilly december back home in youth-filled somerset and less of all can she beg herself to remember the days where the sole misfortune to be had was the distance between the ground and the tallest branch of her favourite climbing tree. how pathetic, she thinks .. A WOMAN WHO DISCOVERS THAT PERHAPS HUMANITY WAS FAR KINDER TO HER THAN IMMORTALITY EVER HAS BEEN. with every dusk and every dawn she learns the only things to come full circle are atrocities (here is where i pause for the long-awaited eruption of bellied laughter from the audience for i, myself, am an atrocity and all i have to show for it is a web so tightly woven i can no longer find the very first strand) and the large aches that emerge in their wake.
❝ i would not expect you to believe me, even if i told you. ❞ she says with an air of nonchalance one might take on if conversing about something as mundane as the weather. the heat from her coffee cup blisters her fingers. makes her wonder what it would feel like on olden, wrinkled fingertips. swallows the thought that she will more than likely never know. THIS IS THE CATCH, READER —— the years say she won't but it all could fade away in the hullabaloo. * and if there is a god, i ask him to let me fade with it .. away, away, away .. ❝ my secrets are no greater than anyone else's. less whimsical, though, surely .. but hardly any reason to stay up with the stars. ❞
⁽ ¹ ⁾ @am4zon / ⁽ ² ⁾ sc ♡
