She was blossoming

Incapable of articulating herself, she suffered silently. Exhausted by the weight of the burden.

It is terrible to know, a terrible thing indeed, beautiful, but terrible nonetheless. But worse, to not know yet feel. And she felt. Oh, how she felt! The Earth turning, the light piercing, the darkness enveloping: she felt it all and felt it ceaselessly. She struggled to comprehend, painfully attempting to extract a semblance, some tiny grain, of understanding.

How can one be burdened and blessed with the capacity to feel and to feel with such intensity, yet be unable to comprehend and articulate the impact?

She wasn’t incapable at all… She was blossoming.

Dichotomique

Sieved and Filtered