Broken.

1

Another page turns on the calendar, August now, not September. I am spinning the silk threads of my story, weaving the fabric of my world.. I spun out of control, eating was hard, breathing was hard, living was the hardest. I wanted to swallow the bitter seeds of forgetfulness somehow, I dragged myself out of the dark and asked for help. I spin and weave and knit my words and visions until a life starts to take shape. There is no magic cure, no making it all go away forever. There are only small steps upward, an easier day, an unexpected laugh, a mirror that doesn't matter anymore.