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warren-gossettPoems
Early on, we passed this pebble between us, each in turn trying to avoid possessing it. The pebble is worn smooth, each palming it off on the other, refusing to acknowledge it even exists so we don't have to talk to each other. After all, it's a tiny pebble. A pebble of non-communication, but tiny. Nothing to it. Over the years the pebble becomes a stone, albeit a small one - more conspicuous, more awkward. The words between us grow sparse, and if we do speak, the words are sharper, more piercing as we attempt to disown the stone. But by now the stone is a boulder, massive, like some squat, ugly beast it has come between us, pushing us out of our lives, what was our home, the dreams we were going to share, the dreams we would once talk about. --
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Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 6:52 AM UTC
The Pebble
Early on, we passed this pebble between us, each in turn trying to avoid possessing it. The pebble is worn smooth, each palming it off on the other, refusing to acknowledge it even exists so we don't have to talk to each other. After all, it's a tiny pebble. A pebble of non-communication, but tiny. Nothing to it. Over the years the pebble becomes a stone, albeit a small one - more conspicuous, more awkward. The words between us grow sparse, and if we do speak, the words are sharper, more piercing as we attempt to disown the stone. But by now the stone is a boulder, massive, like some squat, ugly beast it has come between us, pushing us out of our lives, what was our home, the dreams we were going to share, the dreams we would once talk about. --
warren-gossett
Written by
warren-gossett
American
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 6:52 AM UTC
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