Caitlin Fallahay

The Transition

by Caitlin Fallahay

The lily has festered. Its full, lovely, pearly petals have withered into the sanguine hue of a doomed morning, fallen from their sacred place. They scattered at her feet. The wind picked up and whirled them away before saltwater could stain them, before she could go out and try to gather them back, but after she regretted. It was illogical to think that if she let something go, shewould be madewhole. Determination was devastation love was a murderer. The promises did the trick. It was everything he said and more; she couldnt breathe for all the love he gave and the soul he took as payment.

God washed out the sun, pulled grey out from the surrounding blue to hide something, or maybe to mourn. It was at that point he lost her, after all. Ironic that one loses God when one loses her pride. She can almost feel his bloody hands pulling away flom her, her dirty deeds unsuitable for his touch. White as a dove's feather once described her heart, if not her tongue, her faith, if not her actions, but it no longer matters. Womanhood calls not for these sorts of things.