Perhaps the sense of restriction I feel when I wear a long sleeve isn’t unique. I’ve known this. No one singular experience can ever be truly unique, with the vastness of humanity that have walked the earth before me. But that doesn’t really mean much when you find yourself an anomaly amongst the common folk of your life. Made for tugging on by a young child, for warming the flesh, for decorating the human shape, for protecting the limbs–and yet all I feel is discomfort and unease at the scratch of fabric against the gooseflesh, at the tug of the seam beneath my armpit, two sizes too big the only tolerable state of it. Sensations, maybe, are given a little too much import in my life.
Wrapping its body around me, and area I never notice but somehow notice tonight. The wind is cooler on my skin, the fabric weighs heavy and scratchy, yet velvet and soft.
When she went through the fence, her sleeve caught on one of the sharp metal strands of the barbed wire. She tugged at it and when she heard the people chasing her, she gave a tug and the sleeve tore off. She ran into the field and the protection of the forest, just then realizing that the sleeve would give away her route. No time to think about that now.
She couldn’t decide what to wear to the gala — the sleeveless, silken gown of deepest green, or the delicate, frothy creation of pink and lace?
“You’ve always got something up your sleeve,” he said.
“Always,” she said, with a teeth-sharp grin, “but I’m not the one with bones in my pocket.”
Perhaps the sense of restriction I feel when I wear a long sleeve isn’t unique. I’ve known this. No one singular experience can ever be truly unique, with the vastness of humanity that have walked the earth before me. But that doesn’t really mean much when you find yourself an anomaly amongst the common folk of your life. Made for tugging on by a young child, for warming the flesh, for decorating the human shape, for protecting the limbs–and yet all I feel is discomfort and unease at the scratch of fabric against the gooseflesh, at the tug of the seam beneath my armpit, two sizes too big the only tolerable state of it. Sensations, maybe, are given a little too much import in my life.
Wrapping its body around me, and area I never notice but somehow notice tonight. The wind is cooler on my skin, the fabric weighs heavy and scratchy, yet velvet and soft.
When she went through the fence, her sleeve caught on one of the sharp metal strands of the barbed wire. She tugged at it and when she heard the people chasing her, she gave a tug and the sleeve tore off. She ran into the field and the protection of the forest, just then realizing that the sleeve would give away her route. No time to think about that now.