lauraporah
The immense satisfaction of having done something and having done it well, that is to be content. "Yes," you whisper, your eyes scanning a sky that has little to offer but clouds. "This is what I am."
There was a willow in the backyard of her childhood home. Its branches drew circles on the dewy windows of her purple bedroom when the wind blew in the morning. The branches, they screeched and scratched during storms and sang in the summer sun when a cool breeze brushed along the bark that she carved her initials into, paired with a certain someone’s once she rid herself of her dreams of being a ballerina and an astronaut (“that’s what everyone wants to be,” her older brother of four wide years told her) and began keeping a lipstick in her back pocket.
"It's hard to move on," she thinks, twisting her fingers into knots. "It's hard to forget whatever it is they tell you."
Who is they? the willow blows through the wind.
"Who am I?"
writing since 2010 · 3 entries · 3 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Laura showed up.
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the words Laura reaches for
harddonewillowbrancheswindsometimessmilingmirrorsmileteethshowingpearlsjoyworkbeautifulface