Dec 2, 2020
1 min read
Joy in Grief
My demeaning thoughts hang on me like grapes on vine, unpicked, ready to shrivel and decompose, to leak putrid into a mind too frail to push away.
The landscape I live in would pin me to the window until my muscles screamed for movement, distressed. Tears of joy roll unsummoned, heralds of what life is and of how it should be treated. I’ve been waiting for those buds of incandescent delight, nudging them to come through, to create beauty.
