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in my heart, hope is a quiet thing
a pulse beneath rubble
soft as breath against marble dust.

it doesn't sing
it lingers.
it waits in the cracks where sunlight pools
on mornings the mist forgets to rise.

I feel bad for you.

But I feel worse for me.

For having to walk away.

To leave you here in this cold, clean place,

bound by a wish you never truly made.

The drop beneath us didn't matter anymore,

The air tasted different here.

Too cold.

Too clean.

Like standing at the very top of a world that didn't want you in it.

He stood there, next to that... thing... that wore his face.

He'd always pick on me,

about a specific "lame traffic earring."

And he'd always be talking about dirty things, and then accuse me of thinking about them.

It used to really annoy me.

And now I miss it.

Touched by your kindness,

I felt a sudden warmth in my chest.

If you can really say, "I love you"-

will my mind feel lighter?

Past closed doors,

I can hear a faint voice.

I can't make it go away,

He pleads and begs with knees rusty and matted

Feet of vines to soak the fall not bound like his wife's

before Dysentery dragged His sword

into her glowing heart.

A guarded truth of us