“ there is something you’re not telling me.” from @desolades!
this too is part of her ever-suffering. there is never a single other who can say they know she hides nothing... besides her mother. her father does not want to know most years. her husband will not ask because he suspects and could not bear that weight of knowing.
her children never learned, they hadn’t the chance.
the rest of creation will always set upon her their caution and suspicion and she will always have to endure this question. “what is it you think i hide from you?” she lowers her hands from her face, curls a knee until her calf can sway lazily over the edge of this swinging porch seat. it’s all wicker and a tight weave of it groaning under her constant movement. she picks idly at a piece of the lacquered wood poking up out of the weave, broken and sharp.
@desolades
