Far Away

I almost didn't hear Itch and her soft words, except I was barely breathing myself. There was so much room hollowed out by what I couldn’t- or wouldn’t- do or feel, that I had space to fill myself with all the meaningless surroundings and by-products of the circumstances of the day.

“Itch?” It wasn't her real name, but no one could bear to call her Gretchen. Her coat was worn through on one elbow. How did she manage that, I wondered. She looked like a ragamuffin, sweetly pathetic and mournful in a wanton way.

She looked over with those ugly grey eyes, selfish little dribbles of pain coming out with the tears. “I’m sorry, Annie. I just miss him so much.” Annie isn’t my real name, either. Our unsaid policy always was, you went by whatever someone called you.

“But what was that you were saying?”

“Fly away. I just want to fly away, far away. Harvey used to call me his little bird.”

“I never heard him call you that.” Kiddo I’d heard. Sweetheart I’d heard. Never ‘little bird’.

“I wish I could go to where he is. Just see if he's okay."

"Fly away." I echoed.

*****


I couldn't get the picture I wanted out of this to save my life. One day I'll go back through this file of photos and find one that doesn't frustrate the jeebits out of me, but that day is not today- oh no.

The inspiration for this look was the long, feather earrings I'm wearing.

Wanna pair of yo very own?: [link] / [link]

The emotion comes from somewhere else entirely.



Time: 3ish Cheers.
Medium: Wolfe Brothers & a little eyeliner