I used to think that if I hugged her tight enough
All of her pieces would fit back together again.
Not that she was broken or crumbling...
Just a little torn at the seams.
Those places where she stitched herself
Back up with pine needles and dog hair.
Pale pink scars covered up with smiling faces
In permanent marker.
I don't know why I thought
My touch would heal her.
Not that she needed healing...
Her hands gave more life than my
Fingertips could ever create.
She was the one we ran to for mending.
Who would've thought to patch up a heart
With dirty tissues and candy wrappers?
Not me.
About the Creator
Eden Reynolds
Storyteller. Eclectic Witch. Daydream Enthusiast.
I'm a 90s baby with a love for words and rhymes. I teach dance to little humans, I read tarot, I'm a plant mom, and I live with Bipolar II Disorder. Thanks for stopping by.
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Off the Book
It ended like every other stupid idea. Badly, and alone. I’m researching digital confession ethics, he said. A tech ethicist. He gestured at floating data I couldn’t see then pulled out a physical notebook. Actual paper, fountain pen. He held it up like he was showing me scripture.
By Nicky Frankly2 days ago in Fiction
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