Self-Portrait

I know I promised to stop talking about her, but I was talking to myself. The truth is, she’s a child who stopped growing, so I’ve always allowed her to tag along, and when she brings her melancholy close to me I comfort her. Naturally you’re curious; you want to know how she became a gnarled branch veiled in diminutive blooms. But I’ve told you all I know. I was sure she had secrets, but she had no secrets. I had to tell her mine.