That shooting star, burning and ricocheting across the Universe, touched down to the Earth—my Earth—and left behind several gifts before its own velocity sent it spinning and howling towards the next nearest planet.
It also left a shard of shrapnel, dark glittering obsidian, in my flesh.
(They say everything has its price.)
My fingers work the edges. I feel the taste of panic rise against my tongue, choke the blood in my veins, twist the breath from my lungs. I don’t know how deep it goes or how to get it out.
I don't have any idea what's going on, but I love how you say this.
Posted by: Mark | January 30, 2012 at 08:02 PM
Noel, that taste of panic? I know it too well. I could never put it as beautifully and honestly as you do. I hope it goes away, and that you work through it with your stunning words.
Posted by: Roxanne | January 31, 2012 at 06:14 AM
The price of pain helps us grow. If we allow it.
Posted by: Tracy Mangold | February 01, 2012 at 09:25 AM
This piece is so raw,painfully honest, and beautiful. Work the edges gently. Transformation
Posted by: Dragonfly | February 01, 2012 at 06:11 PM
@Mark--Thanks! I didn't think I do either, LOL. :)
@Roxanne--The worst taste, isn't it? Like when you accidentally burp up stomach bile? Thanks for the comment!
@Tracy--YES. So true.
@Dragonfly. Exactly, it's like taking out a splinter.
Posted by: Noel | February 04, 2012 at 09:29 AM
Hope everything's ok!
Posted by: Abigail | February 07, 2012 at 10:24 AM
@Abigail--Yes, thanks my dear! All is well. Just old bruises. ;)
Posted by: Noel | February 08, 2012 at 06:01 PM
Good. I mean, not good, but, you know...:)
Posted by: Abigail | February 09, 2012 at 06:51 AM
This post was more than a week ago. I hope the panic has dissolved itself into its component parts and washed away.
Posted by: Kimsamsin | February 09, 2012 at 12:57 PM
this is beautifully written.
Posted by: Beth | February 13, 2012 at 04:01 PM