Ever-beginning
and never-ending grief
SIDE NOTE: I apologize for being away this month. I have been organizing my first art show as a part of my efforts to study studio art and make something of myself after becoming everything for someone else. I’ll share more about this later… or maybe I won’t.
Some days, my boobs ache for purpose. They cry for a suckle to sleep. Sometimes they itch so bad for it that as I glide under the duvet, usually autopilot-ed limbs become overridden by motion to remove the empty jugs. I, just like her, forget that we don’t do that anymore.
