a pocketful of posies

I shall take this precious moment to subtly remind you that the only thing that is ever constant (outside the event horizon) is constant change. Well, not all that constant anyway. Human beings don’t particularly like change. Especially changes that directly affect their habits and emotions.

Now, our little human here doesn’t like change at all. As she trudges along the sidewalk under the pale yellow streetlights in the pouring rain, her head throbbing painfully and the sky echoing her hurt, she spots a little change on her right shoulder. She tries over and over to flick it off but soon realizes that, much like Riptide-the-ballpoint-pen, this little change refuses to stay away. So little human stuffs it in her pocket and waits for a day when the little change isn’t all that heavy and the sun is warm on her shoulders and the breeze can dry her tears.

When the skies are calmer, she decides to take a look into the pockets she had long forgotten. A hair-tie. A whispered smile. A washed out photograph of him and the kitten. It sure has been a while…the little fuzzymeow is all grown up now. A crumpled voice in her head, blotted in places where the ink had run when the rain and the tears fell in chaotic harmony. The sea-glass pebbles and the sunsets on the beach; sunrises on the city skyline.

Nostalgic smiles draw tears and paint them in with watercolour shades of heart-ache and brush strokes to guide her as she stuff it all into her back pocket and walk away from the park by the museum and into the forest again.

It’s time she knew each shade of autumn by its name again.

T. E. Pyrus

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