Tumbling down my windows.
Outside—
Hazy fog
Overtakes the
Giant oak tree.
I curl up there
In my beanbag,
Looking out,
Tears streaming down my face
As I realize
That the fog and dew are like me.
They hide the good things,
Except the fog and dew don't last forever—
But what I see and experience do.
The little cardinal
Who sits on my small windowsill
Has now vanished
Into the dense fog.
Their sweet sound,
The gentle “coo,” no longer prevalent,
Leaving only my own thoughts,
My own breath,
And tears.
The fog so thick,
My window
No longer acts as a mirror.
I have so many fears—
They all come true.
I still fight.
Though I can’t stop the fog,
I light up my room
And place scents around.
I clean the dew
That trembles down my window
While I try not to fear,
As things do get better.
While I'm getting help,
I still struggle.
Each day and night, I fight
My body and mind.
But I'm here,
Pushing through,
Finding things to hold on to,
And slowly wipe away—
Like the fog and morning dew
That consume my life,
Just like my health does too.