Littlest Brontides | cereseithne
Began Anew
The dusky room grew in vividness as the woman with Stygian hair set alight to the tiny candle of a chocolate gateau. And then the luminosity twinkled before her, sparking off a reflection on her irises. What a luster she has not seen for many years.
"C'est ta journée aujourd'hui," she breathed in sheer merriment as she reached for a framed photo of a pale-looking seventeen-year-old girl. Yet a scintilla of glum frothed as if it got winnowed out of a veritable list of subsisting cloaked emotions she has unknowingly.
"You know what? You're so strong for enduring all these direful heartaches. That makes you greatly admirable. And I wouldn't be able to withstand all those if it weren't for your relentless courage. I hope you know that."
How long has it been? Five years to be exact? Time flies away so briskly before you even notice, like the flap of a peregrine falcon or a white-throated needletail.
"Happy birthday, my old fragile self. Cheers to new beginnings."
YOU ARE READING
Littlest Brontides
PoetryAn anthology tackling the cosmic baffling collision of societal conditions and the incalculable prejudices and other musings coming as littlest brontides with a hope that their low rumbles may find their ways to you. Always and forever, Ceres Eithne
