She yearned to feel the swell of life within her. Terrified that she would have to stroke her way deeper and deeper through layers of self imposed distractions, she hid behind nude walls, and burnt all that was colour in her world.
Every sunset, she contemplated being like the others. The ones who were simple enough to fit into one word? Their voices crisp, their intentions clear. A thing of envy if like her you’d forgotten the sound of your own roar.
The time came.
Unadulterated by the outside world, she faced herself. Word by word she stripped off doubt, shame, pain, sadness, and when she finally reached her ever fleeting core – exhausted, old wounds bleeding afresh – she fell into a cushion of raw tenderness.
There, she would rest. There, she would paint her walls purple, and sew a floral blouse with matching pants.
Solace in Solitude
Words by Khumoetsile Seamogano
