Waking up this morning to complete quiet, you slowly ooze
out of bed. A promise is a promise, and you promised. The heaviness of the
promise looms in the air, wraps itself in the folds of your skin even as you
attempt to smile at your bedraggled image in the mirror. You get a grimace in
return.
You think of writing.
But no. What good has it brought you this time? Sure the
words flow easily now, they pour out of you like never before. But you speak
too much of the truth and your words are potent in the absence of knives.
Everything is so new to you and a thought comes to mind. Not good enough.
---
Bones.
---
Bones.
Scars are tattoos that tell a story...it is a nice reminder that we survived :)
ReplyDeleteAnd that's why I've come to love tattoos. :)
ReplyDeleteThey are there to remind us that some people never left. :)
ReplyDeleteSome people are forever etched, don't you think? Even if we think otherwise. :)
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