by Karla Bernardo
i have often wondered if there was a place where small kinds of sadness come to die, where faint shades of grey dissolve back to white, where tiny sighs can be heard. i often think that days aren’t exactly seamless, that they are held together by little silences that speak louder than our words. those tender moments, those glances at the clock realizing we are late, or the quiet panic as we remember we forgot something, the uneasy glimpses at the hospital ceiling as they put you to sleep before opening your womb; they are not heavy like paperweights dangling on your chest. they are blisters on your feet when you try to walk with new shoes. they are small tears you never try to wipe, those you leave on your cheek to dry.
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