sometimes, except for always, i want.
quiet faces
“ Sometimes when you fall, you fly.
Neil Gaiman
The backyard is a graveyard.
Remaining survivors, you are never commended for your bravery. (In your own way, you are beautiful, but I crave the color and the light.)
Spring is coming, spring is coming.
If you call out, I will always hear.
We called out, tired and strange in our own skin, lost inside the fog. It was hard to tell the difference between metaphorical and real, here. Was this low-hanging mist an outward expansion of how lost we both felt, how dark our minds really were? Or was it merely a meteorological phenomenon that happened to come just as our minds started to descend? Either way, or be it another, the fog was welcome and we let it blanket us quietly while our blind fingers learned a new way to feel.
