a post inspired by this lovely photo. [ photo via pinterest ] sitting swinging singing head bowed arms hanging voice low thinking blinking shrinking gears turning eyes wide shoulders slumped where did it all go? * * * She doesn't want to look up, only for her eyes to find the dark and terrible surroundings she calls her world. She doesn't want to go back, to the dwelling where words were spoken and exchanged but never taken back. She doesn't want to sit there forever. But that seems like the best option right now. While she swings, she listens and thinks, sings and sinks, the only company she has is the rag doll under her fingertips. It looks worn--just like her. And torn--again, like her. And used--just. like. her. Yet loved--a foreign feeling that has been wasted. She lifts her head to look up at the dark sky, wishing the clouds would split apart and act merciless upon her. Instead, they seem as if to slowly zip open, lightl...
Authenticity is attractive.