I reach into my little pine box with the beech-colored sides and wrap my hand around nothing. There are no marbles left inside to grasp.
I rest my hand flat against the bottom, and feel a bite on my palm. I don't recoil. Instead I smash my hand flat over the offending object. It sears with the intensity of a scorpion sting.
The pain is irrelevant. I blink away the reflex of thousands of years of evolutionary self-preservation. I pull myself closer to peer over the edge and lift my hand.
With fingers scarred with familiarity I pluck the last occupant of the box from it's shrine. It burns with the brightness of remembrance and longing. It hurts to hold, but it's the kind of pain that reminds.
I feel as though I always knew it would end this way. With only the silencing flame of mental din remaining.
I mount the searing ember on a chain fashioned from regret and resolve. It scalds down to my breastbone. Unquenchable. It underlies my outward appearance. My tiny, personal firefly.
The only thing left in my Pandora's box. The coal of Hope fused with nostalgia.
The clouds split and deliver a torrent of forgetfulness. The sleet and rain trying to wash away the bright. Trying to drown out the bearer. It tries to erase memory and accountability with the cleansing typhoon of abandonment.
It has worked so many times before.
But bent double, I carry the coal alone. Sheltering it's perfect incandescence with my body. And nourishing it's flame with whispers of valuation.
Her downpour of abandonment and rage cannot douse the memory of cherishes.
9:54 p.m. - 2014-07-10
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
As-I-know-it
Nicim
Breathe-Salt
Swordfern
Star-Brite
Swallowthkey
ATwoWayDream
HumHum
Secret-motel
AndWeBreathe
MovingSands
WeAteTheSea