Life as a mother can become very tedious when your day becomes a list of repetitive requirements. It becomes hard to even count days because they start to blur into the next, always the same and when I become buried in in these lists I feel that I am no longer me. Instead, I am a compilation of all the things that need to be done. Yet, words, beautiful words give voice to my thoughts and emotions making me more than just the pieces
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Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Flower petal, dry and crusted
Beauty yet remains.
A scent remembered
A velvet touch
Rehearsed in the dry curl
Deep, dark, burgundy,
intoxicating wine.
A memory held
A trinket now, folded
away in words.
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