Titles are Overrated

Part 135

No one truly knows

anyone.

We scatter ourselves

like the fluff of a dandelion,

made of wishes

and the harsh truths

we don't want to hear.

We don't even truly

know ourselves,

do we?

Our whole lives,

we try to find ourselves,

but we won't.

The sunkissed field

full of flowers and sunlight,

is much more appealing

than the moonlit field

full of graves and gloom.

But we have to walk through 

the dark place,

remember all the pieces 

of us

that have died,

and dig them up

to remember why.

We have to bury them again,

to accept that they're gone.

But,

my darling,

the grief will always stay.

It stays like dirt beneath

your bitten fingernails,

or perhaps blood.

We're full of it,

aren't we?

There is no need

to drain ourselves dry,

but like a sacrifice -

a little blood,

a little burn,

a little darkness -

it's all necessary.

We cannot expect

to run from life,

and everything we fear,

with a knife right in our hand. 

Bad things happen,

don't they?

But it doesn't make everything bad,

it doesn't make us

incapable of trying to be better. 

you can't fix a broken mirror