Thursday, September 6, 2012

that you would actually do it.

Reality check. I've been here, I'm--
well, that's just it, isn't it?

I've never had such a powerful sadness that
stored itself within the cracks and crevices
somewhere inside me. Sometimes, I don't even
notice it anymore. It seems  to dissolve or soak
deeper within. But all of a sudden, it'll leak again.
Bubble up, rise against all barriers. My throat will catch--
my shoulders fall--my stomach knots--
and I miss you.

The thing about crying over the dead
is that nobody sees you, not even them.

I doubt this sadness, if that name is even accurate,
will ever fully dissipate.