reaching out
palm to a holographic hope
dissipating like fog
as my fingers linger
in the air it once permeated.

maybe fantasy only serves its purpose
by not being touched.

it is called a breaking point because
every cell, every fiber of one’s being
has been gripping so tightly onto
the thread of what it knows to be true.
and when that thread snaps,
the entirety of the person becomes unraveled
in an instant.
a thread that sewed one together over many years:
every moment of experience, a stitch
every belief about oneself, a knot.
its breaking point tears apart the very fabric of one’s identity.
and what, at first, feels unfamiliar & uncomfortable,
is only a return to the very beginning of oneself;
the unentangled person.

i like to believe each soul is its own special color
toned by our own unique palette of experiences
and tinted through the unique medley of our hearts.
some colors very similar, most very different, and no two exactly the same.
every color existing as innate necessity within the rainbow of humanity.