A Death

My heart broke a little to learn of this shockingly talented and terribly sad child's death. I can't say I was particularly surprised. She seems to have been trying to erase herself for the longest time in between moments when she found a reason to stick around, mostly for her art, for that incredible toe-curling voice that could take a song and turn it inside out. She was raw, as though she had no skin.

The French have a phrase for this (of course they do, who better to describe malaise?): ne pas être bien dans sa peau. I first encountered it in my HS French class reading Camus or a North African author whom I have forgotten in a ridiculous bout of shallow callowness.

"Je ne suis pas bien dans ma peau."

I can just hear her saying that. "My skin hurts."  I think Joplin had the same pain, and Hendrix. Morrison as well. And Cobain. All dead at 27. Such a fucking waste.

Rest in peace little girl. I am choosing to imagine you and Pearl with your arms thrown around each other, open-throated and comfortable in your skin.