The day your heart shatters,

dawn still rises, slowly, stubbornly as it if has no idea your world had stopped.

The day your heart shatters,

night still falls, swiftly, sternly as if it does not know how quickly the dark eats away at you.

The day your heart shatters, the sun rises, beating, burning.

Then,

the moon rises, hastily, hauntingly.

The day your heart shatters time keeps turning until you catch up.

They say “love is pure”.

Untouched. Holy.

But pure is not always good. Untouched is not always unharmed. Holy is not always clean.

Crystal is clear, but when it breaks

you still bleed.

What used to roll off of the back now weighs it down.

What used to wash away with a few dreams now taps it’s ugly finger each morning

Resentment showed up to my door and gifted me the curse of memory.

And now I can’t wash the bitterness out of my mouth.

This void feels warm. Like a pool of light, and I’m soaking after a long day.

Remarkable, how with the right companion, even the absence of something that guides us, can still be so welcoming.

The day she faces the dragon, she woke up just the same.

A cup of coffee in the dark before the sun woke up.

With the flick of a switch there she was.

Looming, hanging dead weight on the back of her brain.

An outstretched hand welcomes her in

and out comes the sun.