Difficult

Today, the sky is cornflower blue. It is too deep to be sky-blue, a rich shade with a hint of purple in it. There are no clouds. The hedge frames one side, the fence the other, and in between stretches an empty expanse of blue. I wish there were clouds. I like watching clouds form; tiny wisps spreading and coiling into thicker knots, stretching to cover the sky with a protective sheet of soft grey.

I squeeze my eyes closed. The imprint of the clear sky remains on the inside of my eyelids.

My mind writes, endless words, scribbled across the that clean blue canvas.

I am drowning in words. I no longer know what is truth, what is half-truth, what is a lie. The sea of words swells, waves towering above my head threatening to break and submerge what is left of me. I try to sort the words, seize the ones I want before they drift away from me, but somehow I cannot pin down the ones I want.

There was a boy who loved me.
He was handsome, and funny, and strong.
He was selfish and manipulative.
He was tender and loving and careful.
He was unkind and irrational.
He found me broken and glued me back together, piece by careful piece.
He tore me apart again.