Cycles

With each breath, crisp fall air fills her lungs with decay and sorrow. She is sick. The plants are dying and the birds are migrating. Her body is preparing for the dark season.

The coming months will be without sunlight. The air will grow cold, eventually, bone chilling. She will do fine the first few months but the bleak will get to her in due time. The depression will take over but she cannot forget it will be cured again with sunlight and a warm embrace.

Pylon

She leans against a pylon in the empty train stop. Her hair is blowing in the breeze and the sounds of the rustling leaves fills her head. The season is changing.

She is not yet where she hoped to be in this new season. She is no where near where she wanted to be. Actually, she hasn’t tried to change at all.

A plane flies overhead and she can feel the rumble of the engine vibrating in her feet. She wants to run but she is paralyzed. Her feet are detached from her brain. Her toes are rooted through the cement beneath her feet, dug deep underground amongst the dirt, amongst the bugs.

A blown leaf catches on her foot. She looks down and moves her feet apart. She has been a barrier for herself. She doesn’t want to block anyone or anything else. The leaf loses grip and floats away with the wind, to continue its destiny.

Shoved

I am trying to find the words to paint my memory. To illustrate how ridiculous our actions were. Years ago, in the car, turning from one forested street to another, the sun shining through the trees. The backdrop was calm. It did not fit the scene. We were screaming over nothingness, making accusations and exclamations, shoving one another. Hormones were high and the wounds were deep. We were hurting each other.

I was ungrateful – and to be honest, I still am. My feelings are tainted by pain that is self-inflicted. I am sick and I am sad.