Oh how I've felt myself fading. It is sometimes quite gradual, sometimes it comes crashing like tropical rains and is gone after a nap, a day, a month. I look to the winter months with open arms in search for maidenly shelter, as the weather and the situation have taken my frills away from me.
Buds have taken root upon my face, and when they blossom they leave in their wake no bloom but scabs and stains. Trees have taken root upon my hands, and as they grow they grow black and stray and heavy. The sap envelops my fingers and keeps my swiftness at bay, gracefulness is also gone and receding, leaving my fabrications dull like smoke. A mole has made its home upon my mouth, teaching my voice blindness and feasting upon my teeth.
My solace came only once as I closed my eyes and let my jaw fall away. It let my voice out in handsome cries, my feet took root in the Scarborough Fair. Upon the dew and pacing the grass, my drab soul of roots set free, I sang it once clear and darling, sending chills throughout me.
My voice is struggling now, as unfounded confidence tries to consume me. Inside it I taste salt and charcoal, my throat enclosing in. I look upon the winter hopeful, that the cold will wash away the me. The me that now feels like it never, ever, ever, never once has felt dainty.
I look upon you snowy soldier, to be my weathered nurse. To strip my heaving mass of its current skin, and let me prance in clean, pristine. I, for now, shall turn the mirror. Turn it so I cannot face me, for if I am ever to catch a glimpse of this ugliness, my claws will tear away my skin.
I hope for your answer nursery winter, come soon and remember me. Come the coldest you have ever, and do not disappoint me.
– - Leur Lapine - –
