I have just buried you. I am sitting on the ground, crouching somewhere between shadow and your sympathy - the kind of blissful kindness that makes stronger bones ache - and the sound of your voice echos beneath my fingers. Did you meet Cerberus down there? Does Hades know your name?
The sun's rays are fingers under my cold ribs. My hollow throat grows thick; my spine now cracks under the weight of my shoulders. The pit of my stomach aches for you; my palms itch and tremble for your touch though I know the blood on your hands scares us both to death. You are fire, I am ice.
We are a run-on sentence that no one can find the grammar to disband. You studied this, you know this, and yet you tell me otherwise. I can't stop gasping, can't stop pleading with the thin sky to take me home. The part of my heart that is not real is reaching reaching reaching...
You know, I heard once that our spirits will never cease to search until they find a place to rest.
