Writing

There are days and nights

When I still think of you

And I smile

Because even if you’re gone

I know you’re happy now

You never truly leave your hometown

You carry pieces of the past in your veins 

And you begin to reminisce when you bleed

In your darkest moments

You are the same child you were all those years ago

Before there was a bud preparing to breach what was not

Before one had to swim through the aether

Before the everlasting Eclipse shrouded all.

The flower brakes through demanding water and life

I'm sifting in the sand:

Ma said there’d be seashells.

All I have to do is simple,

that’s what I’m told.

Cute swimsuit…
 

check.

Grief, in all forms, in all ways, changes you. I am not afraid of spiders—they crawl, and they creep, and they dangle from their long lines of gossamer webbing, and they watch me.

So you want to talk about the meaning of life? There are many people telling you what your life should mean. More importantly what your time should be, because what is life except time and consciousness? Some people say your time is money.