All of us remember all the ways our bodies have felt small and vulnerable, open to destruction—like they are not ours at all, but objects for which we have to always be on the defensive, apologetic, abstractly and consistently afraid. – Why I Wanted to Write About Anger, Lynn Steger Strong
I place myself in the center of room as you panic to pack up your stuff, being careful that nothing is left behind. There are flowers growing in the corners of the room that ask you to stay. There are green skies that we painted. There are flaws your and mine that decorate this wall.Continue reading ““Flowers, skies and me” – Nayana Nair”
Would you be kind enough to take a walk with me. To the abyss I am heading to. To witness my destruction, to shed a tear for what I could have been. To make me into a beautiful poem.