the breaths taken between pauses of bruised feet (&heart)
the presence of absence. a longing for someone or something that you remember fondly but know you can never experience again
there's a longing you can't name, you can't describe — it presses against you, in the spaces where the scent of his fingers lingers. it aches in those spots. but you can't do anything but let time pass as flowers bloom and wither and you take your last and first step into the breath of spring. the stain deepens in your heart, a weight lodged in your chest that will not lessen nor go away. a heartburn of memories of his laughter and tender warmth embracing you.
it hurts so much you can't cry, only let out a heavy breath and let the small moments of brightness slowly build up in those spots and hope it will cover the pain.
there's no cure for this longing that blackens a heart and withers it from within. there's only time. and that -- can never be trusted.
It only runs forward and never waits for anyone.
(small hands trying to grab the darkness between the stars. smaller bodies trying to run forward as the world pushes on their shoulders.)
(you are — but a wandering soul (drowning) in a heavy ocean with a broken lighthouse to guide you home)