PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
Sitting behind me, as fate would have it, as you drag your finger across my back, I know it’s you. The faintest touch of a dizzily dragging finger that makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck like you knew it would. But we were just children.
And you were still just a child when you passed to the other side; when you knocked on my door and asked to come back. It was too late. I felt a guilt it my heart I didn’t know was there, like you knew I would. But we were just children.
The date at 6. The clock at 5. Everyone waiting for me to arrive like festivities barred behind brittle little braces and I’m the Straw that breaks its back. I want to be there. I want more time with you all. But painful is the prodding that produces this person to patiently mosey around from my private cove. The lines on the clock face tick lines on my face, and all I hear is –
My private cove where my actions are my own and not the production of string pulls on my marionette. My door like scissors that cut me loose into my own sanctuary. I drop my masquerade in a jar by the door and may work on my dreams in peace. And pieces they become for two eyes of my own for I share them with no one; not for my sake, I just wear a particular prescription. My farsighted lenses I paint over with roses save me from the Grims that speak with no filter. So I stay here with myself. I lie in bed and let my aspirations float up into the ceiling fan – and pieces they become.