When you start something, you don’t know how it will end
Sometimes you don’t even know when it begins
Sometimes you only notice partway in
Like entering a labyrinth
Like a beautiful paintingOnly to look at, not to touchFull of illusion and falsehoodThe appearance of permanence — — Of tactility — — Of softnessLike a massive cotton ball — — A giant, fluffy beanbag — — A comforter that swallows you wholeBut they’re notThey’re wet — — and cold — — and darkMuch…
The hinges on an old door.
The legs of a runner after waking up from a coma.
The hands of a pianist after healing a broken finger.
The edge of an abandoned kitchen knife.
They gave me a circular bone saw, the type with a blade perpendicular to the handle. It felt heavy in my hand, though somehow light as a feather. I was told to “give myself a haircut,” with it, though I had no idea what that meant. I assumed they meant a literal haircut, so I said, “I can’t without a mirror.”
Look at us
Following a trail laid out
Panicking when an obstacle blocks it
Only to find a different route
And with each obstacle we wonder why
A man walking blindfolded
A tourist looking for an address but nobody speaks their language
A child being separated from their mother at the mall
A transfer student on the first day of school
I’ve been here before, on the edge, so close that my toes are hanging off. I strain myself, my eyes wide and beholding, my neck arched to let me peer over without losing my balance. I take care not to fall, not to lose my footing and slip into the abyss.
He was dying. An enemy soldier had somehow crossed no man’s land dropped over the edge of the trench behind him. He’d reacted quickly, shooting the guy in the neck but not before getting shot in the stomach himself. They were both bleeding out, and they knew it. Neither felt the need to finish the job for the job was…
An Azure RibbonPeeking over the rooftopsEmbroidered with white