Little Girls

morguefile.com

Exploring wooded areas, summer berries and making jam, storytelling on Christmas eves, braids at Easter, Sunday morning scribes, dollhouses and blue birds.
Carefree, inquisitive and evolving, we shared secrets.

When we got older, we were bound to be happy again, meeting at each other’s sun-filled homes for coffee, gossip, laughter and succor.

Tucking feelings away, frigid chills and learning inhibitions, lying about our truths, screaming vanities, hidden talents, substances and hounds.
Scared, dispassionate and dying, we buried family secrets.

I prayed every night that things would change; you would discover something that gave you peace, courage and restored health. Certain memories erased.

Paralyzed sensibilities and a cancerous grief cultivated a very disillusioned sense of obligation. But there has to be a point where grief unfolds wings of flight above oceans delight.

Following suit and becoming an intrepid explorer again, I will be okay with blackberry stains and will wait a little longer before straining. Pretty pinions, perfumed memories and heavenly song will give me that strength.

I have faith that one day I’ll come across them again.

image: morguefile.com

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