Gathering Dust

She draws in the dirt, scrawling shapeless creatures bred from indolence rather than the imagination. Her twig, worn smoother at one end than the ragged other, scratched and scraped at a thin loose layer. Red ridges parted by one continuous valley outlined vague shells and other marine life. An idle sea in a barren terrain. Boring for a girl, young and full of life; she shouldn’t be here.

Her hair was dusty. Her clothes were stained with powdery dirt. Her fingers were caked in a layer of it. It laid upon her face like the foundation of those rich ladies she sees pass the church, but never approached. Her feet were buried in it. No shoes for her. No shoes for anyone she knew, personally. Still, her skin was dark from the glaring sun. Her lips cracked from licking in the blistering, parching winds that whipped up even more dirt. Her bed was dirty. Her floor was dirt. Her house was wet dirt, dried. Her limbs were lithe, her body thin but not rakishly so. She ate whenever she could, whatever she could, and she passed by as best she could.

On this particular day, there was some time for idleness, rare occasions, and she found herself with nothing to do. It had rained a week ago, pouring, and bucketing rain. But like anything else, the sun had bleached and sucked the moisture out of the earth a day after. The next day, a fierce wind had whipped up a typhoon of dust, and everything that had been washed clean by the rain returned to their normal soiled selves again.

There was water in the cellar. She had food; the people were kind despite their disregard. Out of site, out of mind, and she would remain outside the church until she had food. So she sat there, thinking as the sun slid slowly across the sky.

She came to a conclusion that day.

Nothing ignored ever gathered dust and dirt.
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There was once a little house in the middle of developing suburbia.

It was surrounded by a quaint white picket fence, enclosed a green lawn, and had little white vine roses all over them. The house was cheerful, painted a mellow yellow with a red roof. The curtains were lacy and light blue. An armchair sat on the porch, and on it sat an old man. He looked over the front lawn sadly.

This little house was surrounded, marooned by a sea of development. High rises all around; the little house looked like it was drowned. No more sunlight reached the windows but for that brief period at midday, when the golden rays could struggle between the concrete giants to set the little yellow house aglow.

It used to be the prettiest house in the neighborhood. Now it gathered dust here. The smoke from the buildings, dust of the street, of the giant crater in the ground next door, the dirt that blew on the wind whistling between narrow alleyways, the litter of people passing by…day by day, the little house became greyer as the old man could do nothing more but watch.

Gradually, a film of it stained the vibrant letter box grey. The yellow paint faded to a monotonous brown, the green of the grass instead was a dead yellow. The roses died and bared their crinkly brown leaves and rustling hollow branches to the wind. Only the light blue curtains remained defiant, now faded more white than blue. And as the old man sat there and thought about the memories he had in that house, how he remembered the past, the day passed.

He came to a conclusion that day.

Only those out of place gathered dirt and dust.
--------------------------------------------------------------

It was musty in that corner, but the box couldn’t remember being anywhere else. It supposed that sometime in the distant past there was an outside.

Sitting there all day, night, day. What did it matter? There was the constant dim light, peeking in through the cracks of the door and the only time it went out was when she was finally asleep. The cupboard door was blank, brown, wooden and opaque. It’s been so long it can’t remember her face anymore.

It was a fine box. Brightly painted, intricately carved and fitted with the best shingles, topped off with a delicate lock. Floral patterns adorned its lid and prancing mermaids danced around its sides. Little fish were enhanced by gilding in the corners and bejeweled with small, glass beads.

But the box was not vain, no. It valued its contents way more than itself. A shiny rock, a feather, a couple of marbles and her first love note. There was a parker with a broken nib, it was her first pen. It was these things that the box worried for, grieved for. How could she forget the shell she had found that summer vacation she had in Hawaii? How could she discard that bow she wore proudly to her first ever school dance.

So it treasured them instead, shelter them from dust and dirt, from the corroding drafts that sometimes wafted in, from the heat in summer and the cold in winter. Gradually, the vibrant colors began to fade. The floral etchings were almost invisible under the powdery dust covering it like icing on a cake. The heat and cold tore at the shiny metal until the shiny delicate lock rusted into an unidentifiable lump. The shingles discolored and jammed from lack of oiling. The jewels gradually loosened from their settings. Even the mermaids seemed to pause in their dance to mourn for their shabby appearance.

But the items inside were as pristine as ever, and that was how the box wanted it to be. And as it sat there, day after day, watching the dust build upon its lid, upon the shelf, upon everything around it, it started thinking.

And the day before the door opened for the last time, it realized something.

Only those forgotten gathered dirt and dust.
---------------------------------------------------------------
A lot of things gather dirt and dust.

There are a lot of reasons why they do.

What’s our reason?

-Blood

Eternity

It's easy to believe.

It's easier to deny.

It's easiest to dream.

But it's almost impossible to accept the impossible and move on. And it's standing there, staring straight through me.

There never was going to be a forever. Ironically, the only thing that ever remains constant is change. But why so soon?

It seemed only yesterday that time seemed eternally plentiful. But then, I had seen the lack of forever, and had accepted it, without knowing what that actually meant.

So caught up in the present, I forget the future. So caught up in the past, I forget to see the present. And so it goes on.

Like an hourglass, the last of the sands are trickling through my fingers while I try desperately to latch on, slow down. It just simply wasn't meant to be.

The delusion that time was plentiful had obscured the truth, that everything is, was, will run on a timer. Don't ever let anyone tell you there's a forever.

And it's happened before, many times. That tense anticipation, the desperation, akin to waiting for christmas, but instead, filled with dread at hopeless loss. A month, a fortnight, a week, a day...

Still, the clock ticks steadily, relentlessly chipping away the moments that are left. There's still time, there's still time, there's no more time. Now or never, but to wait for what?

Empty, that's what promises of returning are. Never wait, never come back. It's for the better I'm sure. Because why wait for something that will probably never happen? Just leave it up to fate and maybe, just maybe, the sun will smile on our roads.

And if only you could see, maybe you'd stay.

And if only you could change, maybe you'd promise.

Instead, the leaves will wither, the grass will die. The brightest flowers and sweetest fruits will dry and drop from their branches. Boughs will strip bare and the land will fall into mourning. A cold layer of snow will freeze the warm earth and blanket it with its frosty touch.

And so, comes the winter in spring.
Waiting for that ray of warmth.

That tree I thought would bear fruit didnt walk away or drop dead.
It simply wasn't a flowering plant.

Oh the irony of it all.

-Blood

Mystery Estate

-Tap Tap-

"Let me in?"

I beat on the glass, gently, with my knuckles, and peering into the darkness, saw nothing but shadows. There was no answer.

I stood outside and waited more. It had begun to drizzle from the grey monotonous clouds. Such typical weather.

It wasn't that chilly. Just wet. I pulled my jacket around me tighter, clinging desperately on to the warmth and dryness seeping from every fold.

Head tilted towards the sky, I waited for the door to open. Not that I'm sure it ever will.

Oh, I know that there is someone inside. It's a house isn't it? There's bound to be. And I've seen the lights in there at night, sometimes, and even more rarely, the passing of people through those doors. Always the same types. Unreachable.

Back towards the entrance, I fancied I could hear the key rattle in the lock, the heavy door shifting from its frame. I turned around to no motion. It's happened before. Why not now?

The front garden was alittle worn. The weeds grew abit too high, the grass a little too uneven and the rose bushes a little too wild. It added to the mystery of this place, but overall it was still a becoming garden. Atypical, unique and well kept, relatively. I wandered up and down the stepping stones of a garden path to the front door, glaring at the blankness of the wood, the solidity of the wall. If only...

I'd be so much more help inside than standing out here in the rain, doing nothing. If they'd only let me in, I could cook, clean, reaarange, fix... or at least attempt to.

And instead of this house, this grand exterior, a little weather worn and in need of a brush of paint, with its endless shadows to make up for it inside. Instead of this place I cannot enter. There would be crystal chandeliers and sunlight, piano music, laughter, happiness and hoped coaxed into life within these walls.

And maybe it'll even stop raining.

But the door remains firmly shut. And I'm sure the chain remains firmly in place too, perhaps even rusty from disuse. Such a waste of a good house, such a waste.

I take a peek at my watch. The second hand seems to tick extra slowly today. Tucking it back into my sleeve, I ruffle my jacket again. I'm done waiting for today.

As I wandered down the driveway, a neighbour kindly stuck their head out to pay their formalities.

"He's never going to come out you know, haven't seen him out of that house in years"

Ha ha, like I don't know that?

"Yes, thank you for warning me, but I'm afraid I have no choice. My business is quite important"

The kind neighbour shakes his head, and tells me he'll send word if the occupant ever sticks his head out of a window at all, then something about whether he had died in the house or something. An unpleasant thought.

With a backward glance, I then walked on. No sooner than I leave it, the exterior of the grand house is calling my back again, lulling, seductive, wanting me to solve its mysteries. Not today, not today...

But one day I'll get in. And I'll meet him. And I'll plant sunshine into those halls, candles into the corners, hanging baskets of ferns on the veranda and lilly-of-the-valley in the lawn.

Just you wait.

One day
One day

One day you'll let me in

-Blood

Snapshot

:39 PM) Sometimes Gladne:

the rainstorm thunders to a crescendo in responce to her music, the passion of the swelling notes coaxed the trees into a frenzied =D

(6:39 PM) Sometimes Gladne:
this is the music of her heart

(6:40 PM) Sometimes Gladne:
with the beats of raindrops agaisnt glass for accompaniment

(6:42 PM) Matt:
with lightning at her right hand, and hail at her left, she pounds at her piano, rivulets of water streaming down its laquered sides and her screams drowned out by the howling, howling storm

(6:44 PM) Sometimes Gladne:
wow i sound morbid O_o

(6:44 PM) Matt:
go onkeep it going!

(6:46 PM) Sometimes Gladne:
and as the rain dies, so does her song. it comes to a gentle coda, and like the rain, pappers upon the keys like broken glass on tile. And like those delicate notes shattering in the air, her heart splinters like glass and shatteres upon floor of deepest misery

(6:50 PM) Matt:
the storm fades, the wind died away and the watery sun fills the world with pale gold, and the blue sky peeks out from behind the dark clouds.. but she was a porcelain doll, broken, shattered into a thousand pieces.. and she wept.dammit ur ones beta than mine

(6:53 PM) Sometimes Gladne:
but as the sunlight strikes the glass doll, fractured from head to toe but still held together by the wooden base, a rainbow refraction projected onto the white floor. the whole room filled with a magical glitter and the doll glowed with eery light. It was beautiful

(6:53 PM) Sometimes Gladne:
mine's not imaginative

(6:58 PM) Matt:
Quietly, i begin moving my fingers across the piano. Softly, lightly, and with emotion. For who now was left to remember her laughter? Who now was left to remember her tears? Who now was left to remember her name, but I? From destruction springs life. From despair springs beauty. From a broken glass doll, springs a rainbow

(6:59 PM) Sometimes Gladne:
awwwhwy is it so tragic

(7:00 PM) Matt:
lol i rly dnt noe

(7:00 PM) Sometimes Gladne:
i guesswe all have that hidden appreciationfor beautiful sadness

(7:00 PM) Matt:
yeh, we wna be depressed and go "aww" at the same time
i like that

(7:03 PM) Sometimes Gladne:
more like everyone has a hidden sadness that lingers jsut below the surface

(7:05 PM) Matt:
ah dnt be so depressing.. such a sadness does not always have to existi just like tear-wrenching movies and books and stuff

(7:05 PM) Matt:
cause they make me feel good and bad at the same time..uhif that makes sense

(7:06 PM) Sometimes Gladne:
i like reading angst
i know wat u meanxD

(7:19 PM) Matt:
hello! lets try again this timelets make it happyum

it was a bright and sunny day

(7:20 PM) Sometimes Gladne:
she was his sunshine, the reason he opened his eyes with a smile every morn. and he was her song, the reason she skipped to class everyday

(7:21 PM) Matt:
awwwah damn all i can think of is putting a jealous person in there or someone dying

(7:24 PM) Matt:
ieveryday, whether the sky was gloomy or bright, they met in the park in the centre of the city, a little bubble of happiness, in a little green bubble of nature surrounded on all sides by straight, rule-lined skyscrapers and cloying, choking smog..

(7:25 PM) Sometimes Gladne:
boom
car crashg
irl dies
guy suicides
(7:26 PM) Sometimes Gladne:
the end
-------------------------------------------------------------------------

LOL

My Place

I had waited for this moment for awhile, standing here in the semi darkness, listening to the hum of nocturnal insect life. The air was warm like it was supposed to be this time of the year. The air smelt like summer too, a grassy smell that dulled my senses. It was neither dry, nor particularly wet, and a hushed sigh disturbed the quiet of the treetops somewhere in the distance. The wall against which I leaned still felt comfortably warm to the touch, all these hours after sundown.

A particularly persistent moth had found its way to the flickering fluorescent light a little way down the street. Though attached with a bungee rope, it would draw away, then slam into the light at whatever speed it would gather, stagger in midair, then fly away again only to repeat the process. It hurt me just watching it, so I turned away.

There was no fluorescent light here, only the paleness of the concrete and the darkness of red-brick. I wasn’t quite sure where the light came from, as the moon was not yet in the sky. At least, I could not see it from here. The sky itself was a swirling pattern of lighter clouds and darker sky, with diamond pins of stars scattered around the cotton lightness. They seemed muffled, the stars I mean. I scuffed one shoe against the ground in boredom and watched as a fleck of rock came loose from the deteriorating walkway. There were buildings on one side, river on the other, and trees some where along the other bank; it was more of a stream than anything else. A giant open sewerage pipe that didn’t smell quite so bad.

A web of spun wire separated the river and I. The fence was quite climbable and green as the local council had gone on a “make Canterbury Green” campaign, and literally painted everything green. To top it all off, green (grey in this light, or lack of) weeds surged from the cracked end of the walkway like, well… weeds. They came up to around my knees, some of the longer stems. I watched as various objects floated along, bobbing up and down in the meandering current. Great, I was bored enough to watch grass grow and rubbish float down a river.

Ah! Finally, I heard the gate swings open with a high pitched “creeeeaaaak”. The crunch of gravel as they passed through the narrow bit between the building and the fence, a rattle of wires as and a soft curse (no doubt he had scratched himself flipping the fence again) then finally, the shuffling of shoes on concrete. Here he comes, and I straighten up from my reclining against the wall. A black blob of a bobbing hat was seen first, above the low wall blocking him from me. A head emerges, followed by shoulders and a body as he hauls himself up the wall. For the first time, the body seemed cumbersome in contrast to my agility, but I lacked strength to make up for it.

He looks up, and flashes a smile at me. I feel my face respond unconsciously and my heart involuntarily sings. All 180cms and 75 kilos of that body eventually made its way towards where I was standing. Together, we made a strange shadow upon the ground, one side was uncommonly small, the other uncommonly large, as though looking through a distorted mirror in one of those fun houses at carnivals. Still we made a good team. He flicked the blade of grass he had been toying with and it shot away into the bushes of weeds as a small bullet of cellulite, water and other planty stuff. Obviously I hadn’t paid much attention to biology for awhile. I followed it with my gaze, knowing I would not be able to find where it landed, but tried nonetheless. Anything to look away.

A warm palm replaced where the warm wall had been on my back, except this time, it was softer.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

I looked up at him, face dark against the backdrop of the swirling sky. He was smiling, like he always was.

“Why the hurry, we’ve got all night.”

He looked away, surveying out surroundings then, most probably (it was dark, a bit hard to see), scrunched his thick features in distaste. Disbelief at my wanting to stay here was confirmed in his scoff. I looked into the river too, following his eyes, trying to see what he saw, what he perceived as being so bad about this place. At least there was privacy. I kept looking until my world seemed to rotate 90 degrees sideways and drop a meter and half or so lower. Yeah, I got manhandled. Next thing I know, I was being contently bumped along on his back, being taken away from my moth, my fluorescent light, my river and my fence. Giggling was not something that is approved of by me, but special occasion called for special circumstances.

One last look back and I noted that he smelt nice today. His father must’ve changed the aftershave…

Blue

When a particularly emo song has been on repeat for the last twenty minutes, you know that yeah something has definately gone wrong.

Things about misunderstand floats around in the air, a tinge of love maybe, and certainly pain.

When you start crying tho these notes and words, yes something is definately wrong.

Don't take me the wrong way, I usually hate these types of blog where the person moans about how their love life is crap.

So the fact that I'm writing one is even more reason to suggest that something is definately... wrong.

Problem is, I don't actually know what. Problems are always more easily solved when the person can identify them. It is much easier to fix a broken down car, for instance, if you know whether a tire's blown or the fuel tank exploded.

It's one of those things where I thought I would not, could not, ever fall. The wings I had attatched for safety reason I had taken off, thinking there was no deeper down. I thought I was screwed before. Now I've proven myself wrong.

Now I can't even speak up...

Why can't I be her?

Why, why why...

Just because, just because they whisper into my ear. It's not yours. Never was your choice. Never will be.

Sometimes sheer will and determination isn't enough.

Sometimes bitter tears bring nothing but more pain.

Sometimes, only sometimes, I got to look back and wish things were different...

Let go... Look beyond... Walk on

but everyone knows thats easier said than done.

Hunter

Draw back an arrow, notch it in deep. Aim at the heart and never look away. Still, control. Fire.

A mad dash thus ensues between the hunted and the hunter. Twisting, turning in the forest.

And with a flick of an antler, the hunter becomes the hunted.

Game Start

Back rolls the confusion.

The surface always looks different from really inside.

What are you? Not in the sense, define your species, but, what are you to me?
I'm just confused.

Contradicting needs, wants, what should I do? Taken on a rollercoaster ride that didnt leave the room.

What are you trying to do? Not physical manipulation either, though that itself is confusing enough in another sense. Trying to establish emotional attatchment? Why? Why me?

There are endless questions that I cannot ask, will not ask. Because I'm just enjoying this sightless ride too goddam much. Never look a gifted horse in the mouth.

Trust. There can never be friendship, love, reliance without trust. And it's something lacking from us. I dont know what you are trying to do, and I dont trust you enough to blind myself. The fact is that not all intentions may be noble. I might just be paranoid, but you never know. Better guarded then staying there like a sitting duck waiitng to be stabbed through.

What to make of all this? I have no idea, and none of my trustworthy advisors have a clue. I know so little about you. There some things I dont want to know. Perhaps it may not be a big deal to you, but it is to me. Maybe this is normal for you, but it is abnormal to me.

But there is time, there is always time, for now. Time to sift through what scant information I have, reinforce the icy wall around my heart, thicken it's boundaries, the wall built to keep you out and my warmth in. Try it, pick at it as much as you want, but you wont get through.

And if, worse comes to worst, or, all my doubts are true, then i'd simply walk away from this all. There must not be a weakness. It is all really a game isn't it? Of cat and mice, where you think you are the cat, in control, hunting. But no, should you really intend to crush me within your jaws, you'd find more than a mouse there. And I'd simple walk away.

And I won't let you get the upper hand

And I wont fail, wont fall...

Won't break that wall...

I hope.

Crossroad Day

There is a decision to make, one that may change the course of everything
Worst thing is, I have no idea how to approach this subject at all
Deciding that perhaps, time spent in peace would be needed at this moment
Seeing the honeyed daylight outside, saturated with the buzz of midday
And the heat rising off the tar road, wishing nothing more than for water
I made a first step and decided to take a walk away from any pavements

Watch how sunlight filters through the green canopy blotching the sky
Step in the golden puddles pooling in the damp mulch under the trees
A walk through this enchanted space will help to clear the confusion within
Trace lines running through the bark with delicate fingertips, hoping
They'd tell me stories of how people lived and found happiness long ago
And hearing the wise silence, stood with its trunk against my back, leaning

The telegraph poles stand tall, battered and bruised from assaults by the wind
While the grass bow their head to the elements in respect for its soft strength
There is much wisedom shut inside these walls of soft wood and leaves
Concreted river beds cracked, and grasses peek through the openings there
Though there is little earth or water, they manage to blossom through spring
Some things were meant to be, others live to wear down the face of defeat

Sky, with its yellowing blue, never quite green and fading to purple remind me
While elegant gums sway their daunty heads in their patronizing of my behaviour
They tell me, this is no place to be, that it is time to return from where whence I came
But I want to linger awhile for a moment longer, surrounded by these calm statues
Watch the golden fires drown themselves in the horizon, agonizingly beautiful too
Then, even the crickets voiced their concerns over the length of my stay

Out on the street, out in the sunshine, wandering away from things left behind
Take a step, take a breath and wondering if there will be a next time
Short cut through the houses, long cut around the park, just one last moment here
Over the bridge and across the river running it's steady pace beneath me
Follow the traffic and walk against the crowd of birds flying high above
And maybe when I see all that is here again I'll feel more than just nostalgia
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Zac's birthday tomorrow, happy early birthday!

Oh and it's also fathers day =]

The park really was very pretty today... but there was no life changing decision to make

Oh, and I saw three of the Cutest puppies, they were all white and happy and bouncy and furry

My mum didnt like them though, but I did. The owner said that I could pick any one and take it home with me. I think he was joking, he was hoping I thought he wasn't.

To go or not to go? To subject myself to awkwardness or admit defeat to my fear

It really isn't as daunting as it sounds, and I bet many would laugh at the trivial nature of the decision at hand. No, no it is all creative licence for the sake of narrative.

It is quite dark now... the trees and bamboo outside my window makes a lovely pattern against the sky... it is not quite dark yet.

the textured roof tiles look rather lovely in this... lack of light also

There is much to think about today, is it good or bad... what will happen, Better, or should i be content

Nonetheless dear reader, none of these things would matter to you, nore would you understand.

An author's small delight.

Ah, the trees are gold lined, with the last of the day reflecting off its white smooth skin, quite new from the winder.

Clouds may be silver lined, but my trees are golden =]

And now that I've quite solidly established the fact I'm out of sanity,

I shall depart.

-Blood

Proof

I thought that we were both mature enough to put past prejudices behind us
I thought that we were both willful enough to try and move on
I guess I was wrong

Sure, we had a bad beginning, but then everyone makes mistakes right?
They are forgiven and forgotten, eventually, but how long do you expect me to continue to forget and forgive while you nurture your prejudiced like some sore festering scar
Why do you even keep it?
To remind yourself that I did you harm?
Did I even do you harm?
Do you not see the scars you have left behind in me, a blemish upon smooth skin, jarring and quite ugly, a burn discolored against white background
Do you not see that I don’t care for them anymore?
Obviously you do not; you are too busy with your own hurts

What must I do to prove myself?

But no, no matter what I do, try to change myself, be civil, smile, laugh, entertain, it is not enough

It is never enough

And have you thought about this at all?
That one day, like today I would have had enough
Always with the civility, the false smiles, a cold shoulder, friends, maybe, maybe not

Enough

The consideration, looking after your best interests is something I will not be doing at all from now on

Contrast

Hold that thought right there.
I feel infinitely small compared to the steel towers looming over the sidewalk, blocking out the sky until only grey patches remain of the once blue dome.

Just one more person lost in the crowd milling past, stuck on a rock in the middle of the living river of bodies.

Hey, I feel so out of control, and can't hold on much longer to this peice of security in a world where there is no such thing as a safety net to catch the falling.

Some place, somewhere, that's all I know, and this river is flowing to destination unknown.

Take the plunge, let go of my insecurities.

And suddenly, I see a familar face amongst the crowd.

The drift of the current pushes gently towards that face, and little by little, we draw closer together.

Ah, a smile, at last. We cling like barnacles to the alcove that doorway makes.

Out of the footpath, watchig people pass us in throngs on the street.

It's the city afterall.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hold that scene right there
I feel Infinitely small, being the only figure amongst this panorama of rolling hills and clouds, a block painting of green, blue and white hues.

Just once person amongst all this space, insignificant in the minuteness of my size in comparison to these ummovable bones of earth and the vast numbers of soft, rippling grass.

Hey, I feel out of my depth, staring into the open sky, as if searching for a surface in deep water.

Clouds drift by lazily, like foam cresting swollen waves in the sea, wispy in their substance and bringing with them no promise of rain. There will be no relief for those weary of thriving.

Lie back, relax and count the clouds, try to imagine them as anything else but themselves.

Let go of reality and fly into the undiscovered, an adventure on my own.

And until the setting sun taints this picture with more abstract colors, my reverie will remain within these blue walls.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dare to be Different in a World that Values Conformity.

Circle

Sit back and relax

For once let the world pass by in a blue hued blur

And find that perhaps, things are seen clearer than ever



Personal things become impersonal

That step back rights the skewed points of view

Really need to do this more often



So many things are clearer now

Conflicts, miscommunication, prejudices, pain

And so easily righted, if only they could understand



But instead, all these things float around us

Choking the air like poisonous smog hanging above a city

Suffocating our happiness in the acrid salt of our tears



Still, we struggle to hold on to each other

Lost, but not quite alone, held together weakly

By the shadow of something we all shared, once



Spinning in a void of grey

The circle we once made still keeps some of our hopes inside

No matter how tattered it is