Status: Completed
Crystal Bowls
1/1
She is unloading dishes from the dishwater, she is opening the cabinet and putting dishes in. She is stacking, moving, she is staring at three lopsided crystal bowls stacked in a crazy way. A way that shouldn’t work, a way that shouldn’t stay together, a way that only needs a gentle push to fall apart…
The bowls are she and she is the bowls. She shouldn’t work. Why should something like her work? She is almostdepressed. She is almostanorexic. She is almostsick. But she’s not sick, really. She’s happy sometimes. She eats, sometimes. So she can’t be sick. She’s just not…healthy, that’s all.
Don’t call her sick. She doesn’t like to be called sick. She is notsick.
The bowls are she and she is the bowls. She shouldn’t stay together. Why should something like her stay together? She is a contradiction, an oxymoron. When she’s sad she’s happy. She’s bouncy, she’s hyper, she’s doing twenty million things at once. She is the life of the party, the one dominating every conversation with a smirk and a witty comment. When she’s sad she’s doing and going and chasing…because when she’s not doing and going and chasing, she’s thinking. And when she just sits down and thinks… she feels like falling apart and floating away. Those who are busy don’t think. Don't think about all their seperate collding pieces that really, logically, don't belong together.
Don't make her think. She doesn't like to think. Thinking scares her.
She reaches out to the bowls, taps their cracked surface lightly…and they tumble down. They tumble apart and away. They fall through the air, gaining speed all the way down…all the way to when they crash on the solid wooden floor panels, lying scattered.
All it took to make them fall apart was one little push.
The bowls are no longer she. She is no longer the bowls….not yet.
She hasn’t fallen, not yet.
Nothing has pushed her over. Nothing has pushed over the edge into that glorious descent that ends so suddenly..so completely.
She is a ticking time bomb. An almostsick, desperately in denial time bomb, waiting for that one-
Tap.
The bowls are she and she is the bowls. She shouldn’t work. Why should something like her work? She is almostdepressed. She is almostanorexic. She is almostsick. But she’s not sick, really. She’s happy sometimes. She eats, sometimes. So she can’t be sick. She’s just not…healthy, that’s all.
Don’t call her sick. She doesn’t like to be called sick. She is notsick.
The bowls are she and she is the bowls. She shouldn’t stay together. Why should something like her stay together? She is a contradiction, an oxymoron. When she’s sad she’s happy. She’s bouncy, she’s hyper, she’s doing twenty million things at once. She is the life of the party, the one dominating every conversation with a smirk and a witty comment. When she’s sad she’s doing and going and chasing…because when she’s not doing and going and chasing, she’s thinking. And when she just sits down and thinks… she feels like falling apart and floating away. Those who are busy don’t think. Don't think about all their seperate collding pieces that really, logically, don't belong together.
Don't make her think. She doesn't like to think. Thinking scares her.
She reaches out to the bowls, taps their cracked surface lightly…and they tumble down. They tumble apart and away. They fall through the air, gaining speed all the way down…all the way to when they crash on the solid wooden floor panels, lying scattered.
All it took to make them fall apart was one little push.
The bowls are no longer she. She is no longer the bowls….not yet.
She hasn’t fallen, not yet.
Nothing has pushed her over. Nothing has pushed over the edge into that glorious descent that ends so suddenly..so completely.
She is a ticking time bomb. An almostsick, desperately in denial time bomb, waiting for that one-
Tap.
♠ ♠ ♠
Reviews are always welcomed!