I lay on my mother's bed as she spoke to me. A rare occasion of closeness that scarcely presents itself. Something she said to me struck me.
"Smile," she said, "Feed the beast. Just don't ever let them see you broken."
I kissed her aging cheek and turned off her lights. Crawling into my own bed, I let her words stir in my mind as I allowed my body heat to warm the sheets beneath me.
Feed the beast.
"Hi...?"
Hi.
Your former pristine ivory glow has dulled to an off-white somewhat. Your pretty paint has come away, cracking, peeling, yellowing. But somehow I knew I'd not heard the last of you.
Are you the beast, or am I? If indeed I am, then I rest assured that there must be beauty out there somewhere.
No comments:
Post a Comment