When coming home isn’t the same as a homecoming
When the light shines through the window, same as before
Is it truly the same? Can it ever truly be the same?
When weeping on the floor feels a little heavier. Returning.
How do we reckon with a world that’s hurting?
How may the tears of the rejected, of the sorrowful
Wash away the illusion of sameness, of permanence
In a world where change is the only constant.
Do we hold our identity tighter? The pride of self,
An illusion, like light beams at our fingertips. Untouchable.
Yet this being, this existence is one of resistance,
Love sweltering so hot that we must not try to contain it.
And maybe that’s the answer we seek, pondering
As the lights dim and the smoke clears, we can see
Love still bleeds through the streets, viscous and true.
Each day coming home to ourselves, a feat. Victory.
About the Creator
Grey
The world is not black and white, nor is it grey. It is vibrant and filled with color, saturated to the point of bursting. As are we, the human experience beyond comprehension or definition. We are, we be, and we write. Portals to the soul.
Feelings Never Die
It is Valentine's Day again, and it bought back memories that were over fifty years old. It bought me back to 1971, and I woke up and I knew my baby was due today. I was big and pregnant, and I felt like I was about to burst wide open. Imagine my surprise when the doctor told my I had a due date of February 14. I couldn't believe it, and since my baby was due today, I felt I could indulge myself a bit. I had gained a lot of weight, and chocolate was on the no-no list, but I had came to the end of this pregnancy, and I hoped it would be okay, after all I would deliver this baby today. So I walked across the street to the grocery story, and bought myself, a peppermint patty, covered in chocolate, my favorite. Me and my Valentine's baby would enjoy it together.
By Susan Payton7 days ago in Fiction
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