New Slate
New Slate Bam–t here it was: the decision to break my face right. Bone shattering teeth chattering my head in splinters. Yes, there it was: my second 20 years on a clean plate/slate. Before, it had always been draped with some tantalizing tidbit. The slate was steely clear like surgical knife to jaw. A medical cut was needed in my second life to graft a third one. God, it was freeing_ God, it was ghastly_ no jaw, no country, no limits. The rawness was real: I was moving on. I smelled alcohol antiseptic, dust from cleaning... the exhaustion of healing, packing, giving away, and the sweetness of anticipation. I relive the stickiness of duck tape on my fingers while watching the reflection of lopsided lips in the mirror. But I am here, whole. The change is made and the plate is slatey like the sea. Foto: <a href="https://pixabay.com/it/users/flyupmike-5768/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=516...