Story a day: 6.22.16

We are heretic and believer. We are both and we are neither.

We are nun and we are whore.

We are nothing and we are more.

In the web of wants and how-to-bes and ladders meant for climbing, we are itsy bitsy and we are falling, drowning. The storm is growing, rising, trundling. The sky consumed, rent by spears of lightning. The noise devours. The rain blinds. The nun, the whore, she, we, I, they – lost.

But she and I and they and us, holding to each other
we survive this storm and others
and when we walk we are alone
and also somehow together.
When we walk, we three go separately,
using one pair of legs.

The storm that once raged has quieted to a drizzle, a pitter patter in her, my, our wake. A curtain. We constantly re-emerge.

We are nothing and we are more.

We are nothing anymore

But ourselves

Re-emerging.

 

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