Whirrrrr
My body is a graveyard of the past; saddnesses and fears piled up like cord wood, tucked under mountians of hurriedness, hesitation. My heart feels strained, my breath shallow. I walked among the tombs early this morning, and felt convulsive beauty stronger than what I've felt in a long, long time. My breath marked the path before me.
A low sound in unison, a deep longing, something so dear to me has been buried here, how could I have possibly not been here before? There have been countless diversions and yet the headstones wait, paitently, to hear their eulogies. Have I been this close before? Is this just another diversion? Something rumbles in my chest, and my eyes spill over, but these tears feel different than the others that have seemed so unceasing of late; these are cold as ice, and don't taste salty, and there is some unmeasured amount of beauty in the flowing. There is no connection to grief with these tears, just the new life that water catalyzes. There is a smile on my lips, however fleeting, and I remember what hope is.
The stirring in my chest subsides, and the tears dry, and I begin my task up and down the rows of so many sepulchers, placing my lips to each name, and asking, softly, "rise, you dead. Construction begins erelong and this will become a place for the living."
A place for the living.
A low sound in unison, a deep longing, something so dear to me has been buried here, how could I have possibly not been here before? There have been countless diversions and yet the headstones wait, paitently, to hear their eulogies. Have I been this close before? Is this just another diversion? Something rumbles in my chest, and my eyes spill over, but these tears feel different than the others that have seemed so unceasing of late; these are cold as ice, and don't taste salty, and there is some unmeasured amount of beauty in the flowing. There is no connection to grief with these tears, just the new life that water catalyzes. There is a smile on my lips, however fleeting, and I remember what hope is.
The stirring in my chest subsides, and the tears dry, and I begin my task up and down the rows of so many sepulchers, placing my lips to each name, and asking, softly, "rise, you dead. Construction begins erelong and this will become a place for the living."
A place for the living.
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