tmbt: butterfly boob
That’s right, a butterfly on my boob, my breast, my right breast to be specific, my clothed right breast. Yesterday, I was having a fourth realm of hell kind of day, barely afloat in my own slime-green rivers of doubt and on my way to see my therapist. I have to walk through a little garden to get to the waiting room and as I walked past, head hung low with grief, a fluttering sweet orange and brow object of children’s affection alighted on my, say it with me, right boob. It was a spark of joy, a flint stone thrown against the little brick wall of my mind… the spark filled my heavy walk with light wonder and fancy… and beauty.