The cruelest month has brought me thus far. Standing amidst the mess, I see through me. Like a camouflage, my visibility in invisibility. Whilst here I remember the threads of the weaving inquiries. One carefully threaded remark to the next adoring curiosity — never an answer but more questions.
Remaining becomes difficult. It’s in the waiting I can see.
we stop with brimming tears in our eyes. strokes of emotions sweep us to wonder why not a smile or a laugh, but tears?
the folded petals stretch out in white. when the wind blows showers of cherry blossom petals, there is another goodbye. see, even in spring, grief is everywhere.
beauty awakens us to stretch out in truth. the patchwork heart, it beats under the shadows of our skeleton ribs. tears, like rolling pearls, are what we are this spring.