The rain wakes you. How long have you been sleeping? Hours must have passed for the sky to have gone from starless black to luminescent gray. Your hands are covered in wet ash.Conscious thoughts of "I" seem fragile enough to break.
There's so much further to go. Can you make it?
If you remember, they didn't cry often, but as a gift to you, they let you you seem them cry the most.From frustration or bitter hatred for things they couldn't put words to. From fear and loss, like the time you abandoned them, the only time they ever cried in public. There was so much in you that was cowardly then, oh if only you had it to do over again...but such thoughts are vanity, because you don't. But also there were the times they wept from joy, like the when you gave them that ring; cheap plastic worthless to anyone but someone who could look at you the way they did.
Your emotions push you through the day. Feelings forcing the wheels of cognition at times, but mostly just welling up like a gale. By the time the day is half way through you're exhausted and begging for sleep. Dreams will torture you, punish you for this wicked neglect, and remind you of things so holy and beautiful the recollection itself will burn. You will drown; in memories, in emotions. But there is a wordless knowing that though you are drowning, you are only drowning until you're washed clean. The poetry of life and of this moment will abandon you and with each minute's passing and with every word that fumbles from your lips, your intellect only fails you more.
It will have to be enough, for now, to say that somehow there is joy in this place.
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