Heels & Blades

oioioiI have that air of confidence, that special stature of composure. A brilliant smile, assortment of cute shoes, a decent (albeit aging) rack. This is what it takes to get through the day.

Someone is talking to me – say something witty, say something Tara-esque, say SOMETHING.

Or don’t.

Listen. It’s what I do best. Be present at work, be in the now, and know the stupid fucking buzzwords that mean nothing. Am I sucking in my gut? Am I saying or writing something the grammar police would commend me for? Doubtful.

Say I’m not going to break again.

I won’t break again. I take tenuous steps to start my day and attempt to stick the landing, but I wobble through the day trying to stay on some socially acceptable balance beam.

Eight fucking months clean.

There is a feathery thought which beckons, its caress tantalizing, the almost imperceptible whispers take flight on a breeze; a promise of release that enthralls me.

Just a little graze of the skin…

The first spring thunderstorm is beautiful. It soothes. It brings promise and possibility. It terrifies Cash.

Manic. Breathe. Go. To. Fucking. Sleep.

-xo 3T

8 thoughts on “Heels & Blades

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