Solace is the
worn-out blue shoes and
quiet poignance of last night's dream;
an old conversation putting on loop —
a forgotten cascade tape;
morning light flitting through faded curtains,
hand holding a cup of sour coffee,
freshly brewed from loneliness chanting
stay, stay with me
Despair, old friend
visits after a dinner of pasta
blue shoes hitting pavement
passing the lanes of green and grey,
strolling around the meadow where
Gentian flowers glisten in full bloom
clouds wailing, pelting tears on
chilled cheeks, purple fingers shaking —
go home, go home
Forlorn,
distant beckoning lights,
swaying lanterns overhead saying
come, come to us
white sand on a winter shore where
you wrote my name,
next to a set of baby prints
before the waves came
and lapped them away murmuring
no more, no more
Sojourn,
running barefoot
down empty streets, crescent moon chasing
my back, scattering thoughts on the way
pine trees bending, cobblestone grumbling
at the scarlet sky, dancing with
your ghost one last time, whispering
farewell, farewell
I was having a particularly difficult day since I learned of my friend's suicidal thought the night before. I couldn't sleep. And I want to seek solace, though I know not where to find it. Seeing her like this reminds me of my old self — those dark days when loneliness twisted my insides and everything was just screaming and screaming and I couldn’t get out of my own skin. I am not even sure, sometimes, if we could truly be healed, for I still struggle with the same monster every day.
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