I left the room without saying goodnight. i mumbled something incoherent and unimportant and turned away and left. I felt bad, sort of. As if saying good night was something so hard to do that I'd rather just walk away. But the thought of any personal connection was uncomfortable. It made no sense, but somehow it just ended up that way. There had been a time of crisis, of trauma, that left our communication breathless. And starved of oxygen, cell by cell, it began to die. But as the heart restarted and air once again passes through us, we have escaped death. But with the price of dead nerves, never letting us grow closer. scarred tissue stopped us from speaking as we once had. The confidations of a young daughter to her mother were lost forever, replaced with the wounded distance of an estranged teen.
A collection of photos and phrases, a walk through the forested mind of a witchy-woman.