infinitesimal spec in the vastness of the universe

I don't really know what this is anymore... sometimes a journal, sometimes a rant, sometimes fiction, sometimes fact, always for myself.

Home
Archive
Subscribe (RSS)
Submit
Random post

Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor

 

bertiebottbag: You slept in my bed, and if I kept quiet I could hear all the voices in your head. Some nights I still can’t sleep, The past rolls back, I can see us still. You’ve learned how to hold your own, How to stack your stones, But the history’s thick. ~Dessa I can only sleep when she’s close. The winters here are dangerously cold and when she gets up, to use the bathroom or to put another log on the fire, I wake up from the cold at my back. Our mother died three years ago from illness or sadness or exhaustion, or all three. This little one is the only reason why I still wake up in the morning. When the blankets slip off my shoulders she’ll hike them back up and curl right back into the curve of my back. She is the one who holds me. I provide warmth and an income, but she is the life left in our small family. With our brother away fighting, she and I are left to keep the house warm. She studies her books, she is already smarter than either my brother or I, while I weave blankets to sell and trade in the market. She doesn’t get as much sleep as I do, but I know that even if mother was still around, she would be wide awake anyway.

bertiebottbag:

You slept in my bed, and if I kept quiet
I could hear all the voices in your head.

Some nights I still can’t sleep,
The past rolls back, I can see us still.
You’ve learned how to hold your own,
How to stack your stones,
But the history’s thick.

~Dessa

I can only sleep when she’s close. The winters here are dangerously cold and when she gets up, to use the bathroom or to put another log on the fire, I wake up from the cold at my back. Our mother died three years ago from illness or sadness or exhaustion, or all three. This little one is the only reason why I still wake up in the morning. When the blankets slip off my shoulders she’ll hike them back up and curl right back into the curve of my back. She is the one who holds me. I provide warmth and an income, but she is the life left in our small family. With our brother away fighting, she and I are left to keep the house warm. She studies her books, she is already smarter than either my brother or I, while I weave blankets to sell and trade in the market. She doesn’t get as much sleep as I do, but I know that even if mother was still around, she would be wide awake anyway.