Movement

I sat in bed, looking at the fading of the sky, the movement of color from something ethereal to something thick and heavy like metal in my mouth. I could never explain the seasons very well. Never understand the way they happened. It was my aversion to change that made these things unbearable, and if that's too much it made these things prick.

And so, day after night after day and night, i said goodbye to one thing, the thing that had been, and said hello to a new one. It was this constant ushering in and out of guests that exhausted me and left tiny perforations in my skin.

I waited for the "tear hear" sign to appear along the dotted lines, but it never did.

The color is not the only thing that changed, but the sounds outside, the feel of the wind through a tree from quaint and picturesque to intimate, careful like the tip of a tongue against the base of an ear. The movement of people had changed as well. The children's laughter was folded and held in two careful hands. There was a box on the mantel to the laughter.

Jessica