rays of late sun

image found on pinterest

she saw magic everywhere, especially In places with slant cuts of light and trapped dust particles. Her fingers, delicate and small as bones, extended into a dusty milky way. to touch a galaxy. A planetary solar system. tiny friends.

A passers by, only sees

slanted lines of late sun

for her

reality begins to melt back like butter left on a hot stove. not all at once, just with time. one layer after another. and within the layers of her spun fantasies were vacant pockets, dark spaces, mysteries. perhaps her mind had fractured. the pain too hard to process for someone so little. so, while her fantasies took her away, the other part of her mind cleaned house. tucked dark things into dark places.

her memory now was scattered like farm life after a tornado. there but not there, where it is supposed to be, there. But not. that happens after tragedies. after bruises and scars. words said like hot melting metal and thrashing cat fights. You do not really heal, you just learn to forget.

older siblings whispered round her “strange” or perhaps “Weirdo” making wide circles from where she sat, speaking with ghosts. talking to dust particles. basking in rays of late sun.

one time, a neighbor driving up the road where she lived. Had to stop. in the middle of the road, there she was. sleeping in the path of late sun.

she was different.

she was bent edges of a puzzle peice. could try to fit her in, she has, they have, he has. no matter how hard she tried, they tried, she just did not belong. it was not her, precisely, she was just in the wrong box, meant to complete another image. she belonged somewhere, just not.


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