Tessera

I long for the most ridiculous, perverse things. If I had the pain and the anger and the hopelessness I used to have, maybe I would be satisfied. Life is losing, always losing, and the glass is half empty. Life is losing and that hurts and I don't want to lose any more than I have to. When I peer into the future with eyes squinted against the bright lights, all I can feel is fear. Death is fear, the fear of losing the only thing I have ever known. When I wake up screaming in the night because I've just died in a dream (a part of me has just died), the fear is overwhelming. I have a body to hold me close and warm me again so that I feel the breath of life on my cheek, but each time, a part of me has been lost. Each person I meet takes a part of me with them when they leave, whether they choose to or not.

I want to go on a journey and collect the pieces and resurrect myself one bit at a time. Tessera of the soul, scattered like beautiful, glistening shards or icicles, everywhere I have been - snail slime left in a trail behind me.