the words come less often
the images too
the tears aren't ink
but laughter will do

it's like waking up
or being born
the lessened pain
after the storm

it's not over yet--
the damage is bleak
but no longer we fly
nor numbness seek

it's not like forgetting
or hitting your head
but still a relief
to wishing we were dead

i don't know what to call it
maybe You do?
"Hope...?" i say
You tell me "true..."