Enfant Terrible
December 30th 2006 12:17
:
WRITING
I should feel more, I know. And that I... Don't. I stop myself short of some ugly self discovery. Knowledge is incumbent, always. I should feel...but I still have not stopped for her. Her illness. Her. It comes anyway. Discovering ugly truth is like eating bad food, it never sits well. Give me something sweet to nurture my impatient psyche. I cannot match time, it moves too swiftly. And she is always moving with it. 'Mother,' I want to say, but she is in the garden. And the steps are too many to make. 'Father,' I want to call, but my tongue has been torn from my brain...
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