it is common to find stars clinging together and spinning through space,
through time,
through the paradox and the puzzles of this mysterious thing we call life.
love.
or life.
it's the same thing, isn't it?
after some time, when we walk, we become certain of the next step. sure that the ground will be there and then, there. and, there. and, there.
until
it
isn't.
there.
and, once again (and again) we are cartwheeling, spilling coins from our pockets and leaving bruises on the sky.
ii.
sometimes it is hard to open my eyes.
hard to accept the sunlight that's rushed into my room and whirred all the dust into a frenetic dance.
i want to lie motionless and feel the pause of time and let the silence speak for a while. let my cells breathe and stretch out and yawn like lazy cats.
iii.
with even the strongest glue between the shards of every bit of glass that broke,
stacked neat like it was, like it had been before,
before,
before the hard truth of velocity and gravity came along...
even with that kind of mending,
is it possible for the vessel to ever hold water
without leaking, I mean,
without leaking and making a soggy mess of everything around it?
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