a Piece

What do you do they asked me

“Collect pieces”

What do you mean they say

“Moments, things, memories, secret places”

Why they ask

“Because I had swallowed myself whole… I let myself rot in darkness, I let the flowers wither when I should have been in the spring of my life. I had given up, content with being bones, letting my ribs cage in my soul, become a vase for dead flowers.
So I collect what I can, smiles, flowers, museum trips, babies laughter, friends, strangers, bits of jewelry, all that I fancy. Because part of me knows that the rot will never go away… I missed the spring of my life while hiding away.
Now it is the summer, I let the sun bleach the cage but keep the wilted flowers, I will need then for when I can finally bury all that Ive been through.”


The above is a powerful, troubling piece written by my youngest daughter, Julia.  I believe the picture we have of ourself is not the picture others see. If you want to talk, I want to listen.

About C.G.Ayling

Musing misuser of words, lover of lyrical literature, author, occasional contrary thoughts. An honorable man’s name, in memoriam.
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14 Responses to a Piece

  1. jan van der walt says:

    Indeed this is sadly so, with too many of us.
    Just too busy being busy working to pay the bills, and forgetting we should be working to provide the means to enjoy life.
    And making time to enjoy it, or just sit and reflect a while.
    Just be, and take in what is around us.
    – instead of rushing headlong through life…
    It’s not a race, we only get to pass this way once.
    (It’s been said this is not a practise run – you don’t get to live it over.)

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