She deals in shadows, winding them around a finger that bleeds black and white. Her arms reach out, seeking contact, assurance. I’m here, Margit, you say with your nose, nudging the words onto her open palm. She tickles your fur, petting your steady soothing back.
You’re her eyes. Her support system. You’ve listened to her tales of gymnast feats and daring balance-beam flips. They’re only stories, though. She’s been blind since birth.
Her shadowed world clings like glistening sweat, and she knows — yet fears — her limitations. You nuzzle her tears, hoping the saltiness will generate her lifelong dream.
Copyright © 2015 by Emily Clayton
Originally appeared on Flash!Friday’s Warmup Wednesday: