Alighted in Letters of Renaissance

In the kitchen there stood a large basin, filled and heaped over with freshly picked leaves of kale. I’d done this myself. I washed them gently under cold water and took care as I cut them to preserve to clean away as much of the leaf from the thick vein that ran down all their centers.
There is never music in this task. Only silence, or the soft colloquy of my daughter beginning a story among her toys or figures she’s molded from clay.
I often think or reflect on the multitudes that come to my mind, without myself trying to conjure them up. It’s hard to know where they all come from, once in awhile they are nothing more than little stories I make up in my mind to amuse. Those are my visions without purpose.
As I cleaned the kale and admired it’s texture and ripples, I mulled over the sense of my strangeness. And of everyones for that matter.
“Everyone tried to warn you about her. We all told you she was weird.”
The sentence hung in my mind for a few moments. It’s little consolation, or even good hindsight now. Though I’d looked at it often time and time again. It doesn’t explain what came to be, what all took place. I can’t tell anyone enough how often I have heard those two sentences.
Enough that the real mystery of it has bothered me and caused me an inward hurt that wavers in a sphere of melancholy and masochism.
Strange, queer, weird, odd… these among others, all of which I’ve constantly been described. Told I am to my face… by friends, family, even strangers.
Maybe warnings fell on deaf ears for a reason. I’d never thought of it from this place, but a hardship of alienation came forward and presented itself in such a way, that finally, a unique shred of solace was found.
Maybe there is more than simply my own doing.