My Sister,
She's long forgotten the gold sticking to her tongue. Long left alone the words she wove and the tales she ruthlessly spun. I would say she has forgotten herself, left and gone far away. But that would be a lie.
She drags her fingers over the rough stone upon the beach. Digs her toes into the earth and listens to the birds. Unless she is listening for someone else.
At dawn I watch her out the window, sitting in the cold dewy grass. She stares at the blue or grey sky, and the sun rising from behind the trees. Not a single word will leave her mouth, she'll sit there for hours.
Once, when I sat with her near the water's edge, I asked her what was on her mind. She looked at me almost blankly, that faraway look in her eyes, before saying she thought of the flowers and winter snow.
Sometimes she paints. Strokes of blue and gold running along the canvas. She tells me they're her stories now, ones no one can read but her. I don't argue, it makes sense. (Though I wonder what they say.)
When the sun sets and the moon comes up she lays on her mattress quietly. The brown tree rings in her eyes glow like embers under the white light. Strange nightly shadows cast upon her face. I never put the curtain over the window, even while she sleeps.
I worry sometimes. She smells of paint and something that makes me think of long forest walks. I can't pinpoint what it is exactly? Her clothes are clean and yet still carry around the earth. Dropping from the folds in her coat as if she were a living pillars of mud. With the silence, and all of this, my stomach roils restlessly.
She smiles still - that is what puts me at ease. She smiles and paints, not telling me what that strokes mean or what the paintings say. Her journal is empty of words or pictures, empty paper sitting bleached under the windows above her desk.
...It has been many months. She writes again. I do not know what, but it must lighten her heart. She tells me at long last she found what she searched for. When I raised my eyebrow and cocked my head she laughed, light with sunlight and joy.
"The dragons," she said, waving her hand, "Spanning the expansive sky."
To be honest, I don't know what she meant. But she is well, I am well, we both hope to see you soon.
Sincerely,
Married To Her In Soul
YOU ARE READING
Scraps of A Mind
Ficción GeneralUnder my feet is the earth, above my small form is the sky. Both seem endless and vast, stretching onwards forever. In between these things are thoughts, rattling around in my brain like a landslide with no direction. Here are some thoughts, the one...
