Nothing can heal you until you leave this world. I wonder about the people who eat alone- if they’re sad or simply unbothered. Calls never answered. Sharp wind hitting tears and spreading them onto the soil- sad flowers somehow bloom. It’s like smiling at a lonely stranger. None of the pieces shattered until the world had its fill. Healing means breaking and rebuilding. It came through like a hurricane and I can still taste the blood. I’ll hide away and lick my wounds. Build barriers against anything that doesn’t understand me. Ignore every call. Eat scraps off the linoleum and treat it like a feast. Inhale that gust of wind and pretend I never lost a thing. Crush the flowers until I feel satisfied because I refuse to put them on another grave. I haven’t laughed in over a dozen seasons- the kind of laughter makes your breath hitch as the loneliness pours out of you. I’ll bend the world into breaking until it morphs into something that I can understand. Something that surrenders. Something a-little more gentle. Something that can heal me. -AMT ©️