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Walk through his own boulevard... Welcome to Matt's Blog |
| In my earliest memory I am sitting in the small space between the sofa and the wall, holding my sister's hand as she cries into her knees. One arm is about her three year old shoulders, my five year old fingers rubbing her arm as comfortingly as I can. She has a couple of dark bruises scratching her perfect pale skin and I know I have nothing better. We are crying in our safest space. As time has gone on it's strange to think that now I am the one who is crying, with her fourteen year old arm about my sixteen year old shoulders as she holds my hand. As I start the dainty dance of the dark flight down. She named out life the dark flight down after a song in a book... Seems quite apt now... As I comtemplate the final show down, the seventh step, the last dance. |
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