a woman. head held high.
not particularly phased by the bad shit; but scared as hell of the normal shit. looking … always looking for … something … better … a safe place … home.
she was like any other, and not like any other. the proverbial middle ground.
not too noticeable, but definitely not un-noticeable.
constantly trying to blend … so as not to be a target.
but never able to blend … it wasn’t in her nature.
to survive, was the call.
and so she ambled. unchecked.
criticised at every turn. but still she remained. survived.
then along came him.
she noticed him. he noticed her. and they became.
not quite blended, not quite un-blended. they just became.
a chance, she thought … to do something different – possibly ‘right’.
so she blended. and bended.
just a little at first. just enough to not be so notable or noticeable. this was not unusual.
she was always up front: it was her design.
this was a new thing for him. unsurfed sea, so to speak.
then came the first disruption. disturbance. dis-quiet. dis.
it escalated quickly. from walking to screaming.
from screaming to smashing.
to tears. to shock. to disbelief.
what the fuck just happened.
this wasn’t normal. not exciting. not wanted.
how do we discuss what just happened.
apparently we don’t. because it doesn’t discuss. not ever.
it sulks. it retreats. it gets its own way.
upon reflection, she wonders whether this was indeed the beginning of the end. the start of the demise of self.
the start of the high head being hung.