tinear

Difficult days. Thinking of you. Each time I go around again.

Life should be fun. The sun should shine every day. Limitless money, so we can play.

So, I got to see you at work. Angel for the dying. Some young some old. How, I wonder can such beauty exist amidst physical destruction. Souls at terminus, cells run rampant, bodies all tired out. Theirs eyes haunt me, and I saw them only for a day!

You say, you compartment your life, but some seeps fhrough from time to time, I know. I've seen the tears form in your eyes. Some vagrant, demanding, memory & I, wrapped my arm around you, trying to hug the very center of your being.

I want to ease the pain, pain I cannot take away. Because that pain deserves a place in you. Those others who have gone, made the final terminus, demand it.

Now I know, there are no bandaids for the dying. Some things you cannot fix. Only love them to death.

Death be not proud, you take away our friends, husbands, mother's fathers, and leave behind a husk that once contained something beautiful, another life. Yet, their memories persists, like old socks, in the drawers of our minds. Mismatched pairs they are, only fit for warming our feet at night, against the cold and darkness.