It’s difficult to suddenly watch a person change in front of your eyes.

Yesterday I experienced the essence of a person I thought I knew swirl into chaos.

She whirled around Chorlton, her flat, this house in her ripped skirt; I could not take my eyes of her ripped skirt, it seemed to signify something for me, for her.

She was the archetype of the gypsy women, wild and free, the child, innocent and fragile, the warrior who could save the world, the lover longing to merge.

I was drawn into her seductive world of the dream state, she spoke in a language that I once recognised in myself – up, up and up she went and I went with her.

She had a broken toy kitchen hidden in the depths of her heart with her microwave and bins

She stopped the traffic

She spoke of the world

She was beautiful

Today she was taken into hospital, there she will rest until her toy kitchen mends.

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One Response to She

  1. Madhava says:

    This is a beautiful post. It touched me deeply to read it as I also experienced this lovely woman descend (or rise) into chaos. Your lyrical writing style encapsulates these feelings most beautifully …