IMAGES that stick in my mind's eye like band aids for wounds of old times and past tense.
Four. A rainbow of all the seven colors they always told me were there for me to find myself. Like a bridge of some brand of light that seemed almost afraid of fading too fast, it clings on to the edge of existence and begins to resemble, in the eyes of a carbon atom watching so intently it would seem her life depended on the fragile thing, a bridge not of light, but of life and death and everything in between. It came from over the mountains behind which the sun hid the previous night. It came from all sorts of places and the dreams of people who might well wake into nightmares but believe, even just for a moment, that they should enjoy this time, of peace.
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