I am stuck in this place where the sunlight of tomorrow shines so bright upon my face, but the grey pall of yesterday is a weight that makes it hard to move, to breathe.
I want with my whole heart to be the person that people love: bouncy, ebullient, sweet, the flouncy sharing tree-hugging hippie goddess,
and i think i am her, or, i almost was…
But today today i am Eeyore and it is not a cute cartoon or story.
I am a little piece of cloth that could have been a quilt. But instead, i’m a dirty piece of fabric, that may have once been a dress worn by a queen.
I am now dirty and tattered and my pattern is barely marked.
There are no laundering skills that can make me clean enough for it not to be obvious.
What good is fabric that is too worn to even service as a patch?