those rocks that melt away

sometimes, there are people who leave your life to carry on down the roads they must take. but still, they stay with you, in that special aortic crevice carved out just for them. but othertimes, there are those who stay with you while they leave. detaching. slowlysilently. one string. one notch at a time. taking one step forward but two steps back. going before you can say gone. and leaving in seeming flash, when there's no longer a safety-line you could grip to help you stop the fall.

two sides

She fiddles with the bowl of sugar cubes in front of her, thinking

'If happiness could be cubed and packaged into bite size bits like these, life would be a better place.'

He pushes the sugar bowl away, taking a sip from his steaming cup of double espresso, thinking 'Some things are just better dark and bitter.'

the return

"Your journey will be long," you told her. "You will face many dangers. Some, you will overcome. But the Dark holds much that is Unknown."

"How will I find my way back Home?" she wondered.

"Perhaps you'll no longer want to," you replied.

You couldn't tell her that you were still searching.

And that there weren't any signs.

just not yet

one day, we'll sit beside our flower beds and watch the birds make homes from our trees

one day, we'll be happy with the lives we got to live

the shores that welcomed us

the broken hearts we patched and mended

the smiles and hopes we found

the memories we made into moulds that still hold us

one day when this is over.

and all that's left is a courtyard of windows

and the two of us watching our memoirs float on by

the fear

She pushed open the door, and peered into the Dark.

"I can't see you," she whispered.

(She couldn't remember why you took away her Light, and left her there, faltering.)

"You promised I'd find you here."

(She didn't know you were afraid.)

The door shut quietly behind her.

And you were the one left alone.

beneath it all

The leaves will rust. And they will fall.

They will crumble. And they will die.

They will become part of the earth that bore them.

Just as you and me.

There's a pattern to this madness, if we just could take a look.

There's a circle at the centre. And a meaning to the end.

We just haven't got there yet.

the stories we tell ourselves

I wear this letter around my neck because I need a bit of you to hold onto. And I know it's just reaching. Reaching into nothingness and trying to make alchemy out of base metals that were never even there.

But sometimes we need our lies. Even the ones we tell ourselves.

Sometimes, those are the ones we need to hold onto most of all.