The sky is a uniform soft blue, like brushed denim. My breath, harshly visible before me when I left the house an hour ago, is barely there now, a vague, suggestive trickle of me into the out-there.
All weekend, I hid, curled up, chewing my fingers. Go away. Go away. That frightening, fragile edge. This tender, mysterious edge.
3 comments:
This is so beautiful Jean. Photo and words both.
I'm sorry it's so hard. Lots & lots of love.
Somehow you make pain beautiful Jean - and I mean that as a compliment :) I know what it's like to want to hide away. Keep being brave. xx
I will put my arm
Around your shoulders all tense.
And we will chuckle.
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