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Our plans, collapsing: Our lives fall apart today, and we cannot find the words to make it hopeful. Our understanding brings no solace or repair, and a storm now gathers hard above our heads as we fade to sleep in newly single beds. You cannot be my inspiration and I will not be your light. I tried to give you everything. You need to know I live to hold on, to hold on. If I dreamt a bee sting, when I carved a gaping wound, you made for me a sling and tied it, truly. You understood me, and that clearly makes it hard when I give myself to someone else's home. You lived with me and now you live alone. These hands of ours, they were a contract, those pinholes were our sky. There is no easy way from here to there; there is no kind consideration in falling out of love, but bless us both for trying to be there. So hold on, hold on. Stories in stories, line between lines; photos, postcards, and handwritten asides. We are stories in stories in stories. |
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