Contemplating,
Though I won’t say what because the
Term has become taboo-
One of those words that the second it is said,
Faces have already begun to fall.

To some,
It is romantic.
I can see the appeal.
I can see how tragedy is beautiful-
A sun setting over a grey ocean,
Raindrops heavily hitting pavement;
And really,
What is more beautiful than sadness?

It is a heavy term to use,
A weighty thought to even
Think of thinking of-
I know this.
But somewhere,
There is someone standing in the rain,
Perhaps waiting for a train or a bus
To ride for another hour or two,
Only to end up somewhere else she
Doesn’t really want to be.
And somewhere else,
There is a person with tired eyes,
Dragging behind him a large bag full of trinkets
He doesn’t need,
But he keeps them safe as though they are
His lifeline.

The thought consumes me, and it is
Morbid,
And it is probably
Unholy,
But it is terrifyingly beautiful,
That by tomorrow,
These people will never see what they saw again,
But neither will anyone else,
Crying on a Sunday,
Over coffee and the
Morning paper.