Paper Flowers

I am paper today. Rain has dumped all over me. Beautiful timing on this post. -Shareen

The Honeyed Quill

By Tom Harpel (Flickr) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons Image by Tom Harpel This is how it happens: We contort ourselves, like paper flowers. We wait, twisted in our beautiful shapes until the tears fall to melt us away. Damp, we wilt. Damp, we tear easily. We are not quickly mended.

This is how it happens when we love with our full hearts, when we turn down our brain chatter, the endless no, not this one. Not like this: We grow twisted into beholder-defined beauty. We wait, in our places. We wait to be plucked up in delicate fingers. We hold the pose until we tremble at the slightest breeze, until our bodies, wracked with pain at the unnatural turns we endure, seize and quiver and shake with relief at the softest whispered maybe. At the nod of a head or the upward curve of a lip. Of any sign we are good. We think, maybe today I…

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