Tossed.
Casually-with ease. No second thought?
Maybe. But this I won’t ever know. Don’t need to-but want to.
That I, human, sensitive, feeling, committed, invested, involved, sacrificed.
And you, nonchalant, aloof, robotic, hard- a stone man.
Well, that is the tint through which I see you.
Once were. What exactly was it in the end? I don’t know.
Caught? Convenient? Comfortable?
And I, the wilted flower of once was. Memories slipping, falling, petals dripping from a tap left slightly open.
As is my heart- slightly open. Healing- but still bleeding.
And yours, is it tightly shut? Forever?
Seems so.
You stone man, with your clamped heart, wounds stitched- no bleeding here.
And I, tossed.
Casually-with ease.
Fresh water, new flowers. One, two, three?
And I, waking each morning. Slowly stretching, growing, leaf-arms reaching to the rays which are my hope, my optimism, my little nurse.
Slowly.
I cannot catch up to you, so quick.
But I choose not to. Time is precious and it’s mine. Now, I am not ready. My heart is soft, fragile, gentle.
It will be alright, stitched, whole-soon.
But now, in this moment, this small stretch of time, it is not.
When I feel replaced.
Tossed.
Casually-with ease.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 7:19 AM UTC
Tossed.
Casually-with ease. No second thought?
Maybe. But this I won’t ever know. Don’t need to-but want to.
That I, human, sensitive, feeling, committed, invested, involved, sacrificed.
And you, nonchalant, aloof, robotic, hard- a stone man.
Well, that is the tint through which I see you.
Once were. What exactly was it in the end? I don’t know.
Caught? Convenient? Comfortable?
And I, the wilted flower of once was. Memories slipping, falling, petals dripping from a tap left slightly open.
As is my heart- slightly open. Healing- but still bleeding.
And yours, is it tightly shut? Forever?
Seems so.
You stone man, with your clamped heart, wounds stitched- no bleeding here.
And I, tossed.
Casually-with ease.
Fresh water, new flowers. One, two, three?
And I, waking each morning. Slowly stretching, growing, leaf-arms reaching to the rays which are my hope, my optimism, my little nurse.
Slowly.
I cannot catch up to you, so quick.
But I choose not to. Time is precious and it’s mine. Now, I am not ready. My heart is soft, fragile, gentle.
It will be alright, stitched, whole-soon.
But now, in this moment, this small stretch of time, it is not.
When I feel replaced.
Tossed.
Casually-with ease.
