ORIGINS: When the Brush speaks, we listen. It gave us girls wearing scarfs over their mouths. The little warmth they have scraped together, and the words they would rather leave out in the cold.
It’s too late for my heart. My words are the only thing that matters now, and I will keep them warm. There is no place in this scarf for the pieces of my broken heart. The mercy of the elements. That’s what the bird I will feed those breadcrumbs to deserves. I hope it gets its heart’s desire and the sun burns all its feathers.
These are the words I would leave out in the cold. Out of sight. Out of this scarf and the warmth I am trying to hold on to. I was told that I am not a hedgehog, and I shouldn’t be on the defensive all the time. That nobody is out to hurt me. And that may be true, but nobody was out to love me either. And that’s why I used to roll into a ball. I was trying to reach my own heart. Because, at the very least, I should have loved myself.
If I had any say in it, the frost would already have bitten those words to death. I was a naive child; I was born to believe other people’s lies. My own light? Don’t make me laugh. There’s no need to pretend anymore. If you had ever loved me, you would have told me the truth. There is no light. People only have body heat. And the places that leads to leave much to be desired.
If I told you that there is strength in numbers, would that bring you comfort? Would you look forward to the result? Lucky you. The first time I heard those words, a chill ran up my spine. It lodged in my throat, and it has only gotten colder with time. I have tried tying a scarf around my neck, but it does nothing to warm me up. Maybe I should just give in and use it to wipe away my tears.