6am mornings
With little to truly say,
so let's lie here waiting
For the sun to slip away.

-The sea does not roar out of grief; it just longs to be whole-

Sit down. Please.
You know who finite we are?
Of course you do.
we can all taste it at the back of our throats*
And too many times I have wished to taste it for you;
but you always said that was your burden to bear.
You Liar.

Sometimes I think I am the Sea:
splintered apart, drifting
aimlessly.

It's been an honour to break in front of you silently again and again but I've started to think that maybe it's lost it's intended effect-I mean you can only watch someone pick up the broken pieces and promise  it'll never feel hurt again just to crush them in palms that will never hold another's hand and feel them squeeze back without the blood slipping them just out of reach but not really-

a couple of times.
then it just seems desperate.