mintolate
The lid creaked as she pried it apart. A smell like dust and cedar enveloped the little box, and three folded papers greeted her wandering fingers. Special words, the greatest of her life. Last words.
One defining moment in a series of bland, racing thoughts, bringing light and texture to their bare faces. Elation and accomplishment. A triumph.
Spending twelve hours perfecting a single sentence. Shoving every emotion you have into that lighter tone no one will notice except to imply a light source. And, never, never backing down.
The pursuit and skillful trapping of, redundant backstabbing and divorcing of, and the eventual renewed longing for, a husband.
Couldn't she see the way they looked at her?! Followed the deep, convex curve of her hips and around, skimming the waist and driving higher, higher-
No. Her eyes acknowledge only him, and he should be grateful, in awe of her. But he's not.
I crawl, I eat, I center the entirety of my being to one infintiscimal point: a grain I see to build my house upon.
Digging into her knees, grinding scars in that unprotected flesh. She should have studied more, gotten that one answer right instead of... not. She won't do it again.
Saturated, soaking, laden with black tar sludge, squishing step by step to a brighter street corner. Trudging and limping and shuffling with the weight of pain turned to molasses in a sponge.
She's still showing, a little bump under her ribs. They ask her when she's due, how far along she is, and how the baby's doing. She purses her lip and ignores the sting in her eyes; never.
I've climbed ten thousand stairs on ten thousand pikes with ten thousand blank-faced suits careening by on ten thousand little errands when all I want to do is reach the ten thousandth step. One high step, and I will watch the world fly by.
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