A life with no sadness would not be joyous, it would be lacking.
Short of meaning
void of contrast,
missing the ache that so often taken for granted reminds us that we are here,
that we are vulnerable, that we can break.
That for all their impermanence the things in our lives do matter,
even after they’re gone

There is no wrong place, no wrong time, to begin. The only fear you should have is that you never do

It is at once amazing and shocking that there was a time I believed
we had escaped our pasts completely unscathed,
that such a thing were possible to achieve.
It was like looking into a mirror at an airbrushed reflection,
then down at our legs only to realize
we barely had any skin at all

Do not assign yourself a time frame to heal
There is no deadline by which we must tell ourselves
“I feel whole again.”
There is no one who can pressure you
to feel nothing at all.

It is my wish for us to know this:
There is no glory in a numb heart
There is no pride in making ourselves cold

Look me in the eyes so we may say, together,
“I will feel it.”
I will drink in every last drop of pain until it becomes so strong a part of my flesh
that it strengthens me.

A broken bone heals back better than it was before. The mind is capable of just as much, if we let it break.

How strange it is,

losing the battle each day to an enemy you cannot see.

To a soldier with no sword

a voice without sound

a phantom with no shadow

a beast without bones

a master with no mind that knows all your demons by name.

On this same morning two years ago,
I lost you
I can feel the air leaving my lungs all over again

Or it was five years ago now on this exact Tuesday that we met, but you have forgotten and I have not
I will never forget that you forgot

Or on this very day, what feels like too many years ago, I was born. And there are candles
lit and there are people singing but my mind is not here with them and it is asking,
How many days like this do I have left?

Or next year I will be better.
I’ll start over, in January, and I will spend the rest of this one with my head down and wishing
there were a button that could push June into December and bring about, once again, the next rotation of the Earth.
Because I’ll get the next round right.

Why is this how we perceive our lives?
As if time is repeating itself
Like we’re caught in some loop that never ends until we do.
There is no overlap
There are no years, or months, or weeks.
There is no reset button pressed each time we finish circling our sun
There is only now, and tomorrow
and yesterday.