When she bounced off the walls
of what her words let her say,
and when her calls for assistance
were left hanging in thin air,
and when even the one closest
to her heart couldn’t see for her,
what Sara’s scissors created us
found refuge in Adrien’s paints.
⠀
⠀
⠀
written for Daily Prompt: The Artist’s Eye
at the Daily Post
clarior e tenebris 
Way much more could be said here. And will be, if any of those paintings eventually are used to illustrate any future publication of her essays and poetry. For now, it’s enough for me to be able to say that no other art has ever touched me so sharply yet so lovingly.
Scissors symbolize so much.
Yes, they do. And she was having difficulty putting hers into words. Maybe the art meant more to me than all the other art I’ve loved, because I saw some of it being painted. Like how no matter how many babies one has ever loved holding, there’s still something uniquely special about witnessing a baby’s birth. Watching Sara struggle so deeply over her scissors, then watching paintings wield them for her, for me that was like watching a birth.
Pingback: Famine | Ireland, Multiple Sclerosis & Me