Lasting and abiding

by Perpetua de Plume

The words are strung together, circular and precious—she will wear them around her neck when she needs to feel pretty. Placed in a box and nestled under cotton, they will keep.

Sentiments are written in chalk on an old slate. She wants nothing more than to keep them indefinitely, to archive and own, but her fingers smudge, unmake.

She longs to make sense of that which has been unstrung—of all that is unfolding. Refolding, inserting and aligning, she organizes her thoughts like putting away the laundry. Stacking, centering, ordering from small to large.

Provenance and permanence, knowing that there is none to be had, not truly. We mark lasting and abiding permanence through touch, handling.

Her hand goes to her neck intuitively, fingertips in search of pretty words. It is all so touching.