non-challenge entry
challenge: none
title: what she said.
word count: 325
notes: not quite a story, not quite a letter. ♥
She said this is me, this is who I am, and she pointed to her eye, the brace on her back. She said that's all of what you see. She said when a fish jumps here, up on the boat, that is me; I am in the wrong place. In my underwater, everyone looks at the world through one eye. Everyone walks or swims in a band of plastic and leather.
No, is what you said. Here is my box, the box we thought I'd fit in. Here is another box, and I would fit that just as well. Every box you make for me, every box I make for myself, they would all fit the same - which is to say, not at all. All of what you see is not all I am. There is always more.
This handful of words is not me, she said. It could not be me. I live in a world of day-to-day, my words born from churning wheels on snow, from the music playing in my ear. I am afraid to change. These words would change me, she said, even though I know that a life never stops at ever after.
What you said was lost in static and silence. You left an afterimage behind, a handful of gold that was never only straw. You remain. You will not be interrupted.
I heard what she said. She said here I am, here I am, here I am. Here is a life you are not living; here is a road you did not take. If I follow this road to where you are, will I be happy? If I follow this road, will I be me?
I said I am another fish learning to fly. I said then let's be more. I said I never imagined what happened ever after. I said I will listen. I said we will never not be. I said.
Thank you, I said.
title: what she said.
word count: 325
notes: not quite a story, not quite a letter. ♥
She said this is me, this is who I am, and she pointed to her eye, the brace on her back. She said that's all of what you see. She said when a fish jumps here, up on the boat, that is me; I am in the wrong place. In my underwater, everyone looks at the world through one eye. Everyone walks or swims in a band of plastic and leather.
No, is what you said. Here is my box, the box we thought I'd fit in. Here is another box, and I would fit that just as well. Every box you make for me, every box I make for myself, they would all fit the same - which is to say, not at all. All of what you see is not all I am. There is always more.
This handful of words is not me, she said. It could not be me. I live in a world of day-to-day, my words born from churning wheels on snow, from the music playing in my ear. I am afraid to change. These words would change me, she said, even though I know that a life never stops at ever after.
What you said was lost in static and silence. You left an afterimage behind, a handful of gold that was never only straw. You remain. You will not be interrupted.
I heard what she said. She said here I am, here I am, here I am. Here is a life you are not living; here is a road you did not take. If I follow this road to where you are, will I be happy? If I follow this road, will I be me?
I said I am another fish learning to fly. I said then let's be more. I said I never imagined what happened ever after. I said I will listen. I said we will never not be. I said.
Thank you, I said.