25: Rain of Daggers (unfinished)

I used to think it was odd. I didn’t care much. I understand it a little better now.

My coat is my only friend.
My hammock wraps me like a turquoise and grey cocoon while I hold the plaid garment, wishing it meant more than it did. Yellow, navy, brown, green, I like colors ... except I won't be emerging a butterfly, and it's not really my coat. I remember this, what it's like to break. At least I'm more prepared this time, so it didn't catch me by surprise. I've been busy, which is both good and bad, but my timing feels awful still. I'm out of sync, which means we're out of sync.

I'm both more and less observant than I'd like.

I saw the blue and orange key on the bookshelf.

I saw the movie case, about friends.

I saw the screen saver.

I saw the picture taken.

I saw the cards.

I heard the question.

I noticed the compliment.

I saw the folded drawing.

I saw the watch.

A little smile, sometimes a muted laugh.

Sometimes Pain, straight to my heart.

I say nothing.

Possibly it started with a simple story, one I've told quite a few times, but my lies are through omission, not what I say in the stories but what I don't, that's often most devastating to me.

I danced through the acid rain while trying to tell each story, drying my scars before they burn too intensely, while being told I shouldn't have to feel those wounds anymore as I miss a few drops and they slide down my face and into the corner of my mouth, silently. Pain tastes like salted peppermint today. However ... that being true doesn't mean I get to choose all the time. Our weak points are prominent, and powerful against us.