Some nights a thought pops up and the urge to reach through the electronic spider webs creeps up. Its sudden and jarring, screaming for your attention. Fingers tapdance over the screen, the name and a location with the hope of reading 'no results found.'
Some nights you are lucky. The little voice whispered to you nothing significant and found even less. Other nights the first search showcases the worst fear.
Eyes skim across the obituary, vision fills with tears and Pink Floyd playing in the minds ear. While the memories are hazy the sentiment is strong: a good man, hurt and scared, feeling alone. If only the memories weren't painted with harsh florescents and 6 feet of distance it would only be marginally better.
Another name, another date. Another individual that allowed their heart to be exposed and sought help. Another soul placed within mine and a reminder of why it is so hard to do what we do.
YOU ARE READING
Processing
PoetryA collection of poetry across ages, moments, and confusion. Tw - read at own desire
