writings and musings.
paper cut.
The first thing I learned when I was born was to tough it out. Not to be tough. Just to tough it out. There’s a difference. God, there’s a difference.
The world is unfair, I learned. The world hurts sometimes. The world is, ultimately, forgiving, and eventually all tends to work itself out.
And so we tough it out.
luck.
Calico cats are lucky, you know. That’s what some people say, at least. That’s what this one is, I think. This one is lucky, and she’s lent one of her lives to the boy whose lap she’s perched on. She stays even though he can’t hold her while the nurses do their work. She stays even though every fiber of her instinct tells her she should run.
un-silent.
You know what she’s saying.
You know what she’s saying.
You know what she’s saying.
Focus on her smile. On the cheetah print hijab. On the purple dress. On the leather jacket.
for the love of war.
Help him, please, will you help him? For War has stolen his fire in order to light her Calls, and the fire will be used for horrible things. For bloody things. For Death.
nutrients.
I picture a mouse in windfall in October.
I imagine it cold, on the ground. I imagine it damp. The mouse doesn’t mind, or I imagine it doesn’t. This is just what its home is. This is just the world.
sand.
A year feels like no time at all to me. It’s a blink. A blip. It’s hardly enough time to change over my clothes from the summer – and it hardly gets cold enough nowadays for the winter coats anyway. A year is small to my mind, and it is terrifying in its accumulation. Once you have one, there is another, then three, then four…