in the last part of the day
as the sun burns itself out on the horizon
there is a strange silence
a peace amid the chaos
the wind swirls the leaves
into rattling whirlpools
each gust a sigh
an exhalation of resignation:
i can move past this
past all that was never real.
i don’t want to leave this place
i still see the ghosts
of what could have been
drifting over the sand
composed of the bones
of fragile creatures
delicate as a wrist
they shatter under the weight of reality.
i am ruled by the pull of this strange
animal heart
but i am so tired.
the ache has not faded
as it should.

i don’t know what to do.


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