Posted on by histrionicabutterfly

Moments

There is life in the small moments.
I try not to use up my allotment of breath and heartbeat before another one comes.
I pace it out, put the softest parts in secret pockets.
Slow. Sloooow.
Diminishing, starving, thirsty. Getting smaller and drying up like an autumn leaf.

Then it comes. It’s a small thing, probably unremarkable.
It fills me up, it restores me. Pumps my blood. Softens my skin. Lights my eyes.
I see that i am not dying so much as i am living, and i wash myself in it. I take out my tender bits and put them back where they’re supposed to be.

And i tell myself. This. Now. Remember.
Another now will come. It will.
I promise.

Posted on by histrionicabutterfly · 8 Comments

Raggedy Ann

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?