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rabidcaribou

Openly Autistic Writer/Artist
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4 Deviations

Gallery

Once Upon a Time

Who knew the brush of fingertips could be translated Not into words; but into sensations not felt with the hands Sensations felt with the heart and soul as flutters and pauses Pauses that seem to last a lifetime but occur in a breath A whisper containing the weight of every moment like this one So seemingly concrete I can almost hold them in my palm And count them as a measure of how much our love is worth Priceless artifacts of our history not yet dusty in their youth Slipping through my fingers in their already overwhelming numbers Settling back into our memories still warm from my touch To be recalled as a beginning to our once u

All

3 deviations

Once Upon a Time

Who knew the brush of fingertips could be translated Not into words; but into sensations not felt with the hands Sensations felt with the heart and soul as flutters and pauses Pauses that seem to last a lifetime but occur in a breath A whisper containing the weight of every moment like this one So seemingly concrete I can almost hold them in my palm And count them as a measure of how much our love is worth Priceless artifacts of our history not yet dusty in their youth Slipping through my fingers in their already overwhelming numbers Settling back into our memories still warm from my touch To be recalled as a beginning to our once u

Featured

5 deviations

First Flight

My back hits the firm surface of the stretcher. I struggle to keep my eyes open to the aftermath. The air smells of blood. The pavement is bathed in broken glass and the flashing blue and red lights of emergency vehicles. “I want my mom.” My throat is dry and scratchy. A masculine voice responds. “I’m sorry. There’s no other room on the chopper.” They wheel me toward the helicopter waiting to take me to the hospital. I groan in protest.

Poetry

5 deviations