Category: pigeon accounts

“This orchid is going to die,” was what her friend said. Not something like “if you can take care of a plant, you can take care of yourself,” or “focus on the orchid and breath when you feel too overwhelmed,” or “I wanted to get you something beautiful because you’re sad.” Nothing like all the…

Her friends made her take cabs—at least until she mended. They called the cars, they buckled her in, they made sure she got to her destination no matter how close or far. Each time, she slunk like sap down a tree into the rear right side seat, sticky and sad. In the first car, which…

She had not been able to write in her journal since it happened. Perhaps it made things to permanent to put in ink. But a friend made her try, finally, knowing it would help even if it hurt. So, pulling out her familiar fine point pen and opening the battered gray cover, she found the…

She needed to try and still be a person. Everyone told her to make sure she took care of herself. She was having trouble doing that. Her friend took her to a nail salon. She worried about breaking down in such a small place, especially around others enjoying self care, others not carrying pain. She…

She walked through the park holding a box of tissues, her sunglasses covering her swollen eyes. When she had to stop walking because the tears became too thick to breath, she thought: This is why people still make art. This pain is so cliche and yet it feels like something new and never before felt.…