Better to break bones than to endure the loss of perceived love.
Better to bleed internally to keep warm than to seek out comfort in another at the risk of feeling too vulnerable.
Better to die quickly than endure the memory of lost things.
What a way to live, to feel as though you should be gone already.
Why am I taking up this space, rather than...
Why am I here when they are not?
Why was his voice, a voice of calm, clarity, vision, love, and compassion gone
and I'm still here.
Why was his voice, one of crazed humor and fearless wit, gone from this world
and I'm still here.
Why will my family be taken from me slowly, in front of my eyes
and I will still be here to endure it ("if I'm lucky," they say...)
It's hard to be grateful for a time yet to be spent when all I can think of is the pain of future lashes.
I want to be grateful and present and standing in a glass pool with no ripples,
but my mind is always far away and I am standing in the middle of an angry sea.
No comments:
Post a Comment