a crushing type of silence that you carry day by day, that weighs all the hurt and worries that no human should have to juggle down, until they are but quiet fossils, normalized and assimilated into the multitude of easy layers of your facade. but the end of the day, with its luminous screens and unconditional supporting words, reminds you of how happy should be your new normal, your feelings feel to free to fly, like kites in an endless summer sky.
a puppet strung along to another’s grief, louder and more assertive than its own already great sadness. on its stage the puppet enchants its audience with dazzling displays of tragic empty beauty, even as it longs to shake loose of its strings and play among the gentle breeze of new found friendships and brighter futures. instead it is put back on its box by the grieving puppeteer, taken out only be dusted or to perform, and the puppet lays in still contemplation, hearing only the puppeteer cry and growing dimmer.
a garden planted behind crushed ribs, not of plants but of kindness made into sunlight. even as its sower and caretaker is lost, the garden thrives in the selfless gestures of every single being who has ever shown it nurturing, and it blooms even between cracked bones and weeping marrow, even against the dark void it is placed into..
