The Ghosts, They Come & Go

The souls dibble-dabble and entwine in time with the rain even when the lakes dry up.

Tears can compensate.

The laughter echoes.

The heartbeats sing.

And death does a slow dervish dance around it all.

Joy I seek and joy I find. In the unopened email from the two initials that crack my heart open and stitch it back up together all in one never-ending moment of sublime terror.

I’m stuck between my mom and my brother and two conjoined snowflakes.

One resembles death and the other birth and each is unique and magical and transcendent and filling and empty and unassuming and camouflaged like blood beneath mud.

The middle of a triangle is where I’ve started to build a house yet to be called home. A moat of three straight lines protects me and traps me but doesn’t know the spring I have in my step.

I can jump, you know.

He responded back and that was enough for me. I tried to build a fire out of his love letters, but they were all trapped inside screens and left the flames starving for words he left out of his songs just for me left to collect kindling for messages left unsent feeling left behind.

No, he didn’t forget me. The first and the last initial pause in suspended breath before a match bursts with the stroke of my index finger over the silence of the words I will wait to read.

About heathencomehome

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