literature

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she measured time in an entirely unique way. like it takes her a whole packet of lifesavers to get home 
from school, or it takes one and a bit episodes of friends for her nails to dry enough to touch things. 
likewise, she knew the ways to cure her bodies individual aches, chamomile tea, two sugars will cure 
a headache, and the blue candles her mother gave her last christmas can shake a panic attack out 
from the cracks and dust it under the rug for a little longer. 

but soon there were aches and pains that were new, and she didn't know how to erase or subside. 
no tea or scent or even musical men could heal it, and it stuck in her throat and she had to think of 
new ways to make it familiar. she came up with descriptions for each of the knots in her chest, 
and drew dots on her skin with a permanent marker detailing the origins and where to apply pressure
to break them up, like fluid buildup. she would eventually make them permenant, when after many 
many repeat aches in the exact same places she realised that science has missed something
inside her and she wanted to make sure she remembered where her internal landmines were.

he had a special description, or lack thereof. it was as if her insides were paper, and he had reached
inside and crumpled them up with his hands before smoothing them out again. almost nothing wrong
with them. except for every part that was bent at such a minute angle that it was only felt sometimes, 
and those small moments were unbearable. she had scribbled field like notes into journals and tried to map
it on her biology books, but it ever stayed in places long enough. it slithered and stretched and exploded 
and scattered shrapnel to even the very tips of her fingers. 

she scooped tea into her teapot almost religiously, boxes stacked like tiny towers in the corner of the kitchen bench.
the looser and leafier they were the more soothing they were, even before she took the first sip. the green stretched
out and plumped up, almost like it was coming back to life, or stretching like a cat after a long sleep. it made her chest 
mimic the leaves and relax a little. it might has just been the steam billowing out of the spout but the other idea
was nicer.
halp.
stuck.
© 2012 - 2024 ohsparrowsong
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staphysagria's avatar
<3 I don't know what to say. This is lovely and sad.