Crying in a crowd. Sad songs that make you laugh. Uncomfortable pauses at the end of every story you tell. Let’s rehearse the way we heal in order to perfect it. I feel a thousand sparks ignite my fury and I’m torn between letting it go and burning the entire fucking thing to the ground. What makes you a sinner or saint ? My father always told me that there is a lesson in it all. I’ve been studying the words that people can’t bring themselves to say. I’ve been thinking about grief and why I feel comfortable in the loneliness. I’ve been talking with strangers to see if they can read the sadness behind my pupils. I’m writing love notes to myself in brail to try and feel something again. Cutting my tongue on words that sound nice, but feel strange. Nothing is clear besides the flames and I’ll walk through them in order to get back to me. I’ll stumble like I never knew how to walk in the first place. I’ll reconcile with the hurt and learn why it was always there to protect me. -AMT ©️