what is it?

Tears fall over lives I’ve not lived. Is it the lack of courage, did the flower fail to flourish?

Doing it all for everyone while I pull my own hand back, over the cliff side. Echoes of cries reverberating canyon walls.

Heading home to unload the dishwasher and fill the coffee machine with water. Candle lit for a moment while the smile falls off my face because the same’s been done for me by a hand I don’t quite recognize.

Hours in my bedroom, prancing the C-shaped space, sprawled on the bathroom floor, tangled in my own sheets, on my own. Tears fail to glisten in my eyes because the candles aren’t lit.

Mind spiraling but still failing, failing to make sense of the pain, the pain that shouldn’t, the guilt because of it.

Failing to turn despair into something beautiful. Turning it into a convoluted nothing with puffy eyes. Making sense only in the late of night, the late of night that shouldn’t be, for morning is a yawn away and tomorrow will be another day of unloading dishes and lighting candles, downstairs.