A stalagtite hangs,
like thousands of others.
Water droplets fall,
echoing through the unlit chambers.

A singular shimmer exposes half-buried remains.
Dripping interrupted by quiet steps and whispers, focused and methodological.
A stone fragment loosens,
falling onto dusty hands.

Chiseled halls, carefully decorated with remains of what once were as alive and thriving as us today.
Our origins, our reconstructed memorials of what was once conquered by a flash that dimmed even the brightest stars.

What will be the stalagtite that will collapse upon us all?

I've been watching patterns in nature lately, savoring their beauty.
We are born,
unfolding,
into the world's natural grid,
painting the infinite canvas.

I finally see that we are one and the same in this cycle,
interconnected.
So different,
yet so familiar.

The trees structured like our lungs,
our veins like the vast rivers.
Our hearts pulse,
and so do the shore waves.
I look into the stars swimming in the antimatter,
and they look back at me.
Among them I see your eyes,
like two suns,
radiating warmth onto my soul,
reaching evey corner of my being.

I will never forget the time we had,
how it colored my world's canvas.

What will a bittersweet reality do?
when love and faith are tainted,
when doubt always cuts through.
A sleepwalk through the day,
and the deluded closes their eyes anew.

What can a bittersweet reality do?
to a mind convicted to its own room.
Seeing the side I've chosen,
becoming what used to make me fume.

And so the storm comes looming in fast,
but not the one from clouds.
The dreams of mine were always big,
but my nightmares are just as vast.

And so the wind welcomes destruction,
and the rain melts my shackles.
A friend is standing before me,
the cause of my reconstruction.