I held them tight in my thin-skinned palm. Smooth marbles that grew ridges and whorls, sharp edges. Cracks and gouges.
When they make you bleed, it's time to drop them. Or time to start thinking about how you have to drop them. This process can take a while.
Letting go, letting them fall away and fall on the ground, where they transform. No control, only hope. And waiting.
It's a sad thing. It's bittersweet. It's a cause for grief, no less so because you see it coming a mile away, from the first prickle in your palm.
Fantasies grow teeth. Those cuddly monsters.
Posted by thevieve at November 16, 2006 11:12 AM