| Chipped Teacups The nails on my left hand are chipped and broken and grubby, even though I am right-handed and it would make more sense for it to be the other way around. I would hide them if vanity didn't seem like a waste of time. My eyes are tired and my lips are chewed, I would call it a nervous habit if I could think of a decent excuse for being nervous. I am wondering why it is that I can't sleep, that shadows chase my mind through half-forgotten doorways in my memory and take me through houses of the past (because I don't live there anymore). I am wondering why it is that I can't sleep because that would be my miracle cure. But it's not that I am looking for a cure-all, just a little something to show me that I am at least reading from the right book, even if I'm not on the right page just yet. The nails on my left hand are chipped and broken like the sad, old teacups we found when we were clearing out my grandma's house. She must have liked collecting broken things - nothing worked (in the end, nor did her heart). But at least she's sleeping now. I am wondering why it is that I can't sleep. Emily Smith |
