Mud on the Wall

My daughters have a way of telling me that not only are we, as a family, not normal, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Wednesdays Adult

The ashes floated up and stuck, randomly, in his hair and eye lashes. He had long ago stopped seeing the photographs and merely saw the shifting memory pictures reflected in the effective flames.

The depression was a big and friendly thing that fit him completely, like a childhood favorite blanket, fitting in places that he'd forgotten he had, cupping his fears and supporting them with an encouraging softness.

It was a glance into the unfamiliar territory of his sisters' mind that started it all, sacrifing the last illusion of shared symphathies, common values and resonnance. He struggled with the foreigness of her behavior and responses finding no common point of reference or departure that could lead him to where they stood now.


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