Blurb - Texture
A four part memoir blast about the years when I was too young to carry what I carried, and too old to be protected from any of it. These are the shards: the overwhelm, the rescue missions, the masks, and the borrowed families that held me together when I didn’t know how to hold myself.
The Flowers, the Stones, and the Feeling of Doing Something Wrong
I
felt like I’d done something awful. I never went back again. But
that day was where I found my first love of headstones and flowers
left out in the sun. Real flowers that had decomposed, fake flowers
that had faded and gone dirty — all of them looking lost and
forgotten.
I loved the idea of something being there permanently, but then ending up looking like nobody cared because it never got changed. I thought too much about that, even then. People come and go with fresh flowers, even though cutting flowers always felt wrong to me. But the fake flowers — the ones left there for ages — they always looked beautiful to me. Not decaying, because they were fake, but falling apart in their own way.
I saw beauty in that. It said something without saying anything. Even now I love that type of flower — the faded ones, the sun damaged ones, the ones that look like they’ve lived a whole story. They speak volumes to me.
Comments
Post a Comment