Writing

What if I never find it?

What if all of this is for nothing?

I've been hurt by caring before.

It's easier not to...but it's been a freedom for me.

I don't want to give that up.

I want to take the next step.

My soul feels like a broken doll left on the shelf that hasn't been touched in years, my porcelain face cracking as my smile begins to fade, something that took so long to perfect. 

There is a different version of me that leaks out,

dripping ink on these pages,

hollow and raw,

saying all my thoughts.

A flow of words that may have never left my head,

Here you lie,

Upon the grass,

Clover disguising your fragile body.

Far away from your nest and kin,

How did you get here?

Ruining your innocence

Ruining mine

Comes the wheel - 

It's 9 o'clock on a Saturday- 9:00 AM, that is, when Mom made lemonade for the annual summer party at our house. Fresh-squeezed lemonade. It is sitting in a cooler on the small table in the tiny house in our backyard. 

We need more joy in this world, 

we need less of this depressing sense of life, 

when everything around us is so beautiful. 

But we only look through a gray lens to see it.