Stepping onto the scene of the masquerade ball, my mask broadly smiling with dimples in my cheeks, long lashes and painted lips. I dance until my feet tire. My belly hungry for connection.
With the setting sun, I wrap up the sum of my day and eat it for dinner. The taste not quite what I desire but I chew it anyway. Swallowing slowing, drinking between bites, so as not to choke on the pieces.
My mind craving light. I search for it in the history of the hours previous, flipping through the words, the movements, allowing space for kindness. But finding myself standing alone on the porch, my offering brought inside, the door closed behind.
I turn and walk home, sadness riding on my shoulders.
The mask that previously fit like a glove has become a bit lose lately. The elastic stretched and fraying. It is possible that I’ve outgrown the mold from which it was formed. Afraid it will fall off at the most inopportune time, exposing the pink skin beneath, I keep my movements small. Contained.
Working to replace what is worn , I try to fashion the mask into something usable. My spirit prolonging the effort…mobility slowed. It is conflicted. Uncertain if it should repair or remove, noting that each presents its own challenges. Undecided as to which is worse….Which it can endure.
The road is quickly disappearing beneath me…. 
Chats A Lot 
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