Nothing is permanent.
But grief never dies.
An inevitable dark hole,
a leach upon your soul —
as you scatter like shattered pieces of ice.
Aching, breaking, broken open —
as the world refuses to pause or take a slower more considered breath.
It spins on.
Chasing the Sun through the rain
as you are drenched in sunsets, moonlight and pain.
You become one with the rain.
A restless deluge falling and falling over and over again.
At times, you are the finest droplets,
barely there — evaporating before you reach the ground.
Your icy soul thaws becoming a river now.
You are carried along by ripples of heartbreak,
carefree dreams, thinking about thinking,
memories that keep you floating and sinking —
and a longing to create moments of joy
that can be stretched out beyond the stars.
Rain breathlessly as you fuck up,
becoming unstuck —
sifting through seasons of debris to soar,
falling and chasing waterfalls.