Turn this snow globe upside down, shake it left to right, around and ‘round, watch the glitter settle, upon a now-glistening figure, upon her nose a mere flicker, a perfectly pretty picture.
Way back when, things were simpler, her angst wasn’t as present, no sense of preoccupation,
when she could slide into her bed, or curl up on a hill, and voraciously devour the life story of another, of their words she’d have her fill.
How she ached at their poignant moments, suffered along with their harrowing experiences, and looked up to those brave enough, to detail the troubles and horrors of their lives, whether self-inflicted or because of another’s devices; strife is considered strife.
So, she learned their tales, their pains, their sorrows and took on their experiences, wondering how some of them walked away unscathed, but in truth, she knew, that like her, they too likely still carried hidden scars of suffering, the snow globe’s shining glitter isn’t always as it seems.