My eyes snaked,
sidewound, aware, wary.
Wretched wishes do not plague me now,
hopeless as they were in the empty cataclysm.
Yet, with this newfound freedom, flayed and
fragile, fumigating the baby breaths from my lips,
I still feel a sudden descent;
I do not trust my senses to allow me peace,
as I admire a cumulonimbus thunderhead, the sky turquoise through
the windshield, and the concoction of summer
sky tantrums in the afternoon and the kiss of stale air conditioned
zephyr propagate my subconscious, and,
thus, I have yielded to razor-edged heart shards again,
even after I pledged to leave them on the cold, tile floor.
the road to recovery, that is. even after promising myself I have moved on, a curious atmospheric sensation can bring me back to a time when we were one. Although I detest it, but it is one of the most bittersweet and curious romantic things I have ever experienced. I was aching for a pencil to write this as it occurred. It is just so...devastatingly unprecedented.