barely

Steff: Andie, you’re a bitch. (From “Pretty in Pink”)Bitchin’

Now
and only now,

after all this time

I
understand
how the other half of the world

lives.

Do I remember what it was like at the peak of my depression? Or my inability to leave the house ravished by anxiety? Barely. How fitting to turn half a century (March) and be over the suicide ideation battle. I think i won. I think.

Nobody ever promises a rose garden. But i do remember to smell the blossoms while bloomed. Grateful for my loving children…

Dogwood have no fragrance and adequately make up for the loss with an exuberant blanket of petals, stitched together to create a covering for hearts, souls and minds. Enjoy your bitchin’ Mother’s Day, the best way you can!!

Love, j ๐Ÿ’—

Musings Photography Poetry

3 Comments Leave a comment

      • Yes it was – the lightness of the molt, is like that of a feather and a feather nearing a flame is like a tinderbox, but hasn’t got the weight to settle ofn the fire, so the heat made the molt rise again and land on the floor – which because it was wooden it slipped along the floor making me think it was moving, but because of the fact it was alight, the molts’ legs curled making it look again like it wasn’t just moving but scuttling!

        Heartbolting moments l can assure you ๐Ÿ™‚

%d bloggers like this: