written by: Joel O’Flaherty
It is a lightness she hasn’t felt in months.
The wind a lapping wave, washing her clean.
The weight of the world: a heavy, unending lassitude that crushed the fight from her lungs, pressed the soul from her veins. The dark thoughts: sharp spoons that hollowed her bones, until they resembled a bird’s, empty inside. All of it, gone, with a single step.
And for a few brief moments, for these last heartbeats between the ledge and the pavement, she soars.
A premature angel. Winged, before her time.
After all, isn’t flying a matter of perspective?
Latest posts by Joel O'Flaherty (see all)
- At The Bottom of a Bottle - May 29, 2023
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