We simply exist in this wondrously sad
moment, definitively and infinitely rolled
into one. It's one of those things that will
only exist in this very moment, and most
likely will never happen again exactly the
way it is unfolding right now.
It is of sudden realizations and epiphanies,
of sadness and griefs, of comfort and
kindnesses. It's something of regret and new
beginnings, of weakness and strength. Feeling
strangely present, and awake, and aware.
It hurts. It's soothing and I want to cry more.
I don't know how, out of billions of people
out there, that it ended up being you who
would eventually see me like this. It's a
strange thought, knowing that I could have
made a series of choices and decisions that
would have led me away from here, most
likely to never have met you.
YOU ARE READING
THE ARSONIST
Poetry"You set my world on fire, but at what cost?" In THE ARSONIST, this prose-poetry chapbook explores third degree burns, stone faced lovers, and learning to love the blackened trees. New poems released every Thursday at 9PM MST/11PM EST.
