You show me yours, I’ll show you mine. How do you determine the ten things you chose to hold up to the light? Do you choose the ones you know will filter it, into a thousand fractured rainbows? The ones that are brightly colored and unique? Do you stand under the light of a clouded crystal, that instead of multiplying the light seems only to create shadows across your face? Which?
I suppose it depends on what you have to choose from. If there’s a hundred shining fragments, any old handfull will do. Take them and toss them into the air until they litter the earth like dew, there will be more. Those of us who carry around shadows, have to be more selective. Stirring through our packages of memory, more careful around those we know carry dangerous blackshining shards. A careless slip could leave you gutted and bleeding out, old scars split open by the same old weapons. What do you expose? And if you open old wounds, can you repair them in time?
While you have the strength? Will there be anyone there to perform triage? And if so, how will you be flagged? A casualty... immediate help... walking wounded...
You show me yours, I’ll show you mine, these scars that hold our limping bodies together.
I never know how to tell people about myself. I always feel awkward when someone brings up their families or where and how they grew up and I don't know how to respond. I often feel like, when life has been sweet it must be easier to just throw out any kind of tidbit because none of them are going to reopen old wounds.