03-28-2016, 11:33 PM
marvel
of being intimate with brokenness
Life is nothing like what they promised her, but it is exactly what she thought it would be. It is everything she deserves and yet still, she wants for more. More than this nothing, this corrosive loneliness that eats away at flesh and bone, drinks from her marrow, from the blood that burns in her veins until there is only this loneliness left. Only this pit of empty in her chest, in her belly. Perhaps too, she is in love with this lonely. It is hard to know something so intimately for so long and not miss it once it has gone.
There is a voice in the grey, she cannot remember if it was dusk or dawn before he brought her here, and her small blue face swivels to find it. “Hello.” She calls back in a voice like a whisper with orange eyes as bright and round as embers. But then those eyes drift from the direction of the voice and settle like dust over the bones that litter the beach like broken promises and fragmented memories and she cannot help but wonder if these bones were anyone she should have loved.
But then someone does materialize out of the grey and as though trapped in a dream, she moves slowly forward. He is black and his isn’t, grey but darker and she thinks she can see the sand and bones behind him, through him. But the strangest part of all is how her heart stutters in her chest. I have something to tell you, she thinks but does not say, I made a promise. But she does not say so yet, or maybe she cannot. Not yet. Instead she tells him in a voice that crumbles around the edges, words severed with more loneliness than she knows what to do with, “You left me all alone.”
on the surfaces of who I am