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June 22, 2008
She cries
she cries, and the tears make the whites of her eyes brighter, as her black irises stand out, making her more beautiful in her innocence. She does not know how to coup, how to let go, she walks around the house, looking down, finishing a new task, fidgeting with the colorful menageries that decorate her house, while the thoughts web and cower in her head.
She was raised in doll houses with shiny beads an crystals that kept her in a certain glow. She was dressed in kind admiring glances that cherished her every move and yet she become a young woman of certain clarity in her
moods and her jests, her curtsy and her honor, righteous through and through, elegant in her pride, generous in her kindness. and we all became so accustomed to the way she stood tall.
She does not lose easy. she takes care of her own and there is a certain attachment to all she loves. And now he feels so slight in her arms, so broken, and she can not nurse him. she brushes his hair, smiles and sings him new lullabies. she feeds him soft morsels, wipes his mouth and chin, robs his feet and brings him sleep, and breaks her heart every time she has to leave him behind, over and over the finite reality of passages chimes in her
head, as she turns and walks away.
she comes to me and talks as the tears find their ways quietly, I hold her and she feels so slight in my arms, so broken, and I wish I could take her pain, some how wash it away from her and wear it like the shirts she hands me
every morning before I leave. She does not lose easy, and i am so accustomed to her pride.
' I have to accept, I have to surrender ", she told me the other day while dressed in her black outfit, and the whites of her eyes made her black irises to stand out.
Posted by Idinraha at June 22, 2008 02:51 PM