i killed a bug today.

in a moment of panic
squished it until its corpse
combined itself with the page
laying underneath.

remorse washed through my entire body.
guilt lay at the foot of my stomach,

and for a moment i wonder if God feels the same.
guilt for crushing me
with the weight of all the pain
i am forced to withstand.

i wonder if he ever feels sorry
for letting me go through that.

for letting me suffer.

if there is ever any remorse
for almost killing me.

surely he does right?
feel sorry for it all?

please tell me he feels sorry for all of this.

it scares me to know how far light can travel.
how stars billions of light years away
can die and yet still be seen on earth.

and it scares me that i can only hope
that the light i leave on the world,
lingers for as long as that.

or even

lingers at all.

i'm inviting Time inside.
offering a seat;
a room in my house so it can unpack its things.
letting It live with me
until all this tension i feel is relieved.

we're spending moments together (intentionally):
a song of silence sung during the sweet sunrise,
a solemn sulk just before bed.
i'll permit It sit with me.
let It remind me that there is so much left.

it'll wrap Its arms tightly around me;
pat my back in rhythmic beats that once felt cruel, but which now reduce me to infancy.
offer me a tissue in the shape of
'the right person at the right time.'
and for a moment, in its embrace
i find solace.

because there really is so much of it left.

because you are not dying.
(no, not yet.)
and it will be there in the morning,
your life is no less than palimpsest.

so i'm welcoming It in,
offering it a drink.
tea brewed long, but not bitter.
i refuse to live a life
with the string wrapped around the handle.
because seeping and stewing are not the same.

there are moments in a climb
where you stop,
and put down the things you carry.

either to admire the view
or to let your lungs heal
from the constant ******* in of wind.

there are moments in life,
where we must stop,
and put down the things we carry.

either to admire the the view
or to heal the ache
of constantly living.

i got a paper cut
and i picked at it
until its corpse
become a permanent headstone
on my skin.

you hurt me,
and i picked at it
until it began to scar,
until it began to
tighten the skin.

i will never be able to escape the ache of you.
never be able to revive myself.
or be able to relieve the pain of the skin pulling.

but i will always try to heal it,
even if it is no use.

sometimes
the moments we steal
are not enough
to make us forget
that life is heavy.

sometimes
the moments we steal
are not enough
to make us fall in love
with life again.

life will offer smaller moments.

bite sized pieces of joy
meant for those who struggle to find the bigger ones.

like a piece of chocolate
our grandmothers
swear they will not give us
but surely will.

a person
at just the right time.

a book
that says just the right thing.

a song  
with the perfect melody.

or a film
with the right amount of humanity.

it’s the smaller things
that life gives us.

the smaller things
are the ones we must cling to.