Beauty Seen is Never Lost

She held on to the roll of ribbons she’d been handed. “ Cut them into pieces, cross-tie them, and show your support for the October cause”. After all, she was that house precisely built with beautiful, patterned deck cards; that pale streamer with smeared grey letters jamming the window, and that featureless Toy solider discarded behind the fridge. They had feet to stand on; she’d been knocked over one day, and went on with loose limbs and organs; waiting for the world to put her back together.
She took the ribbon roll and dragged it swiftly behind her to that corner where a a dream-looking autistic child sat hunched over a piece of paper, folding it and refolding, as if time had turned into a short-spanned loop. A glass shell of a boy, a nonexistent shadow, a condensed bundle of non-expressed lives within lives. They tampered with the universe, and touched every core with their feet soles, but who knows of you little boy? She tied the ribbon smoothly on his wrist, and continued her way with what’s left of it. To a street corner where a young woman is unraveling the sky with her hands, trying to locate stars, or maybe just a star. Her bloodied finger tips barely reached; her battered abused body fragilely breathed,; and her insides, were turned, once upon a dreadful night, into frozen ghosts. She pulled out the ribbon roll, and turned it into a beautiful bow, and pinned it softly on the young woman’s hair. She moved along to that little boy, whose lightening sneakers weren’t fast enough. She ran behind him as he ran with an extended hand trying to grab the tips of his mother’s outline. But the outline wants to inhale a life, and a life, doesn’t include, little boys with brittle hearts and limbs. She embraces the little boy, touching his nose and eyes, tracing invisible seams of lost childhoods and psychopathic tomorrows. She pinned the ribbon on his front pocket next to a threaded shark. She was tired, and the stops had no finish line. She knew that, and she knew that her roll of ribbons was now a mere carton that cracked under her firm hold.
To human kind, she gifted them all.
Pink ribbons would cure Cancer, when sparrows wouldn’t fall off trees because the branches were taped together; and when human hands wouldn’t scratch of veined-surfaces and mistake it for a loving touch.

Posted by Diddlina at 12:21 PM