the ice didn’t break when I held it in my hands
but it cracked the moment it hit the cool water. sometimes I think it’s the things that almost kill us that hurt the most. today was quite a good day actually but the image that came to mind/accompanying phrases were angsty so (perhaps someday I'll challenge myself to write a hopeful poem with an image like that instead--something something maybe it's time to let the water in) - Atlas
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& I cannot apologize honestly and fully
without making things worse than they need to be, worse than they are. so I shall carry the words I dare not speak in action and amended thought. mmm we love unintended hurtful assumptions (thankfully this one showed up in--I think--a mostly harmless way, they don't know and I caught it fast but still! yikes!) - Atlas & as I walked back to my car
I quietly took note of the places where an attacker could be waiting & it was only much later that I remembered that the world does not have to be like this. hm - Atlas I wonder if you ever
found this place again, if the roads of life ever twisted and turned enough to bring you back here. the trees are different now. taller, broader, more mature. do you recognize them? hm - Atlas I am
continually becoming unrecognizable to versions of my past self. every day I stray further from the person she thought she was, and into, (I hope) the person she would've wanted to be. hrmm - Atlas "It makes me feel better
to know that you've also given up on the day," you said and something inside me lurched because I hadn't, not really. or at least I didn't want to. but I also wanted to talk to you. so I didn't break the mood. hm - Atlas it was good,
talking with you I'm glad I did it. the truth is many things in life are worth the stretch. hm - Atlas my days,
my nights, they're all patterned with the same mistakes. but maybe sometimes they are precious, also you said I was well-spoken and I was surprised, I'd spent the whole way back berating myself for opening my mouth. something something perspective - Atlas mistakes,
twisting in my hands like threads. I know I get to decide what I make out of them. but still I cannot shake the lumpiness, the scratchiness, the weight. hm - Atlas |
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