day 323

So this is what the weight of a million shattering hearts feels like. On the edge of your tongue, the sharp glass and broken concrete. Scrape a bit of your kneecap and learn to scab. Learn to heal. Not to pick at every single attempt to heal your broken skin. We want to free ourselves, we say. We learn to fly without compass and distraction. When your heart falls to the pit of your stomach, you tell yourself this will indeed get better by tomorrow. You will wake up in the morning and feel the warmth of a shy sun prying itself out of monstrous clouds. You will laugh at the thought of being shard. The thought of being another drought. Another day without root and balance. Tomorrow you will wake up and stand tall. With your back against the wind and your palms reaching for the tide. Tell the ocean to wake up, stop carrying the sadness away with its bellows, learn to sing with the whales, the bottom feeders, the sand. Learn to sink. Slowly. Without your will. Lose your power. Stop trying so hard to be the wave. Be the crash tide. The salty sadness and sweat. Drain yourself of all and any possible ways to stay afloat. Teach yourself to drown. Stop trying so hard to tread against your newly lost lover's breath. His scream. His desire to harmonize with your gasp of a breath. Sink. Completely. Immerse yourself in lost cause. There is no familiar cry to sing. Our lungs are filled with shrapnel. Battlefield litter and the torn limbs of your past lover's voice.