Wanderling.

I lay. Looking up at the gilded fairies that dance in the window sun.  Before now, thats what they’ve always been. Gilded little sun fairies. Before now, they held more magic then C.S. Lewis.

Now its just dust. 

Truth seeped into my head thru ways of sticks and stones. But the words?  Whoever said words dont hurt… well, I wish I lived in their wonderland.  The words are what broke my bones.

I remember trying to count them… all those swirling, dancing fairies that floated above my head. I remember wondering what it would be like to just be one of them. A wanderling. A lost and fluttering tiny soul just being happy with the sun.

As I sit up, my wreckless hair disturbs and gold is sent flying out of control. Funny how close real life parallels such wonder…. once you move. you disrupt.

But maybe thats what makes life so much more, because the gilded sun specks never actually leave. They just get throw and tossed and then, once gathered, they keep on glittering. In silence. In beauty. In simplness. In happy.

Sitting in the window sun, reflecting on my disruption, focusing on the silence, the beauty, the simplness, the happy of life.

 

  

 

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