Tuesday was my birthday. Another year older, and I got a phone call. Last summer, I had a horse.
He was my boy, my only love, and he was my smile. His name was Silence, because thats all I heard when I was with him. His name was Friend, The Unknown, and above all, his name was Inspiration because that's what he brought me. Unfortunately, injury happened. He tore major tendons in his legs, and they told me he would never be ridden again. They shipped him off to a farm to be retired. That was almost a year ago. Tuesday came. My pocket vibrated and interrupted dinner with my family. I excused myself, tugged on my winter coat and stepped outside into the freezing November air. It was the tired voice of Nadine, the woman I worked for that year. My boy was gone. For good, this time. There was no greeting. Only words of comfort from the raspy voice of someone who I haven't spoken to in 365 long days.
That night I had a dream. An old man was sitting on a bench in a run down park. He lifted his weary head and opened his eyes. He spoke these words, and these words alone.
We are nothing but skin on bone.
Skin on tissue,
skin on muscle,
skin on flesh,
skin on bone.
Stay alive,
my lonely flower,
walk alone,
as skin on bone,
skin on flesh,
skin on bone.
I knew from then on I'd be okay.
