we lost each other in clouds of ebony smoke and charcoal skies, lungs turned to crisp and hearts squished underfoot, whimpers drowned out by the roaring of turbulent gunfire
your fingers were bruised purple, and you winced as you released them from within my tight grasp and pushed me away gently
i watched on solemnly as the bloody rain stuck to my hair and you willingly entered into an inferno you swore you never would
that was the last time i ever saw you whole. they returned you to me in pieces smaller than i had thought were possible and i felt my eyes slowly burn as they reminisced your hands interlocked with mine on a breezy sunday afternoon, while strolling through grandma’s orchards at 16 and late, drunken nights spent slow dancing on lonely street corners at 21, and as each day passed my heart shrank a little more knowing that there would be no picnics on spring days with our children at 35, or hot chocolate on the porch on cold december dawns that nipped at our skin at 50.
the pain cut through my throat like a metaphorical noose, along with the realisation that loss is infinite. for the sun cannot shine everlastingly without being obscured by storm, and each saccharine moment of ecstasy has an evil twin called sorrow always waiting to pounce out of darkness when you least expect it
grief is an inevitable concept, a constant flowing abyss that every being is forcefully plunged into and escape? escape is impossible.