Her.

The thoughts and feelings that extend from these fingertips, these hallowed lines of flesh; they’re like no one else’s.

I have my own set of unique life prints that cannot be copied.

In a moment of explosion my eyes are closed – like driving under bridges,  passing transport trucks, the predictable scary part in a movie, like a first kiss.

The best things in life aren’t seen, but felt.

Cold engraves a signature on my cheek. No one else will touch this place again with the same feeling.

When my heart is open I expect a gentle guided hand, not a sword of rusted valor.

Sometimes I wonder if I act without soul. I wonder if she follows behind me and shakes her head when she sees I’ve done wrong.

I wonder if she tries to put a hand on my shoulder and say enough’s enough. I wonder if she is a she, or if she is a he, or if there is nothing but room temperature air and I’m talking to myself.

I wonder if she thinks of me and smiles like when I think of her.

M.

Mandy Poole

Journal Entries

Mandy Joy Poole View All →

Writer and photographer from remote Labrador, Canada. Just another cold Labradorian chillin' in the Big Land. Can most likely be found walking my dog Grace or behind an iMac screen slowly taking over the interwebs.

2 Comments Leave a comment

  1. Your line about ‘unique life prints’ reminded me of Oscar Wilde’s “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”

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