fighting the fatigue....because one can not be made up of only ideals. one needs a heart to go with those ideals. one needs hopes, dreams, fears, and stories to be real.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
cinder.
and somehow there's still smoke from our fire.
i forget how big it once used to be.
but the smoke will catch my eyes every now and again.
everything goes blurry.
it burns to open my eyes.
so i stop trying so hard to see.
there's some momentary comfort when i keep them closed.
but when my eyes close,
the image of you from across a gallery burns in my head.
a fire once kept me warm.
but a residual vapor burns where there used to be comfort.
the smell of our fire, following me everywhere i go.
cinder, i can't let go, burning in my hands.
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