Resolute.

Fell off the map again.

Today.

Seem to be continually

unstable

in terms of

longevity.

Fast, and fleeting.

Spying blue ribbons. Skip. Hop-scotch like. Over my place.

It's feeding a deeper hurt. Playing into a deeper stream.

Life's nicks start to accumulate, and moments such as these, bridge the gap.

We drown.

Gasping. In sorrows. Large, real, all there, all present, all loving, sorrows. They fall like individual drops. Creating a flood.

Flooded.

Perhaps belief is the hardest pain. Believing you're worth it. Outside the circumstance. Believing that, someone, won't leave you. That you're smart enough to stay the course. Away from hazards. Boulders disguised as clouds. Prone to crush than to lift.

Wanting to take finger nails to memories. Etch out the knowing. Claw away the was. Deep. Into the unseen. Remove the pieces that remain. The memories.

And wash it all new.

Bouts of bravery surface now and again. Like islands into the all consuming emotions. Reason stands there, directing the waves, casting the moon about to order the tides. But Sorrow lingers. Edging sanity off the fringes. Prowling lions of memory, devouring the strong, steadfast moments.

It's then, then that she retreats the book and couch, the blinds with pale light, displaying the slitted sun gone sky. To the room. A small chair. In which her wishing it was smaller body curls. Knees up, head down, soft sobs, and black tears. With no energy at all.

And all that was....

Forming a mosaic. Chagall day dreams of past fires and floods. The tracing of love.

It's so painful to grow old. In our heart beats, and our tears.

Knowing. Forever knowing. And knowing..forever.