Deluge of words,
Too many to handle.
After the fact,
Not much remains
But sadness.
She says it again.
Silence.
Uncomfortable rustling.
All the things that
Haven’t been dealt with,
Exposed.
A moment of hope,
Something different,
Lost to fear.
So many things to do,
Each one seemingly
More daunting
Than the last,
Roiling helplessness,
Inner fallacies derailing
Otherwise simple tasks.
A fancy sports car
Drives by in a cloud of noise,
Expensive beauty —
The inane things we covet
When we forget who we are.
A beautiful tree
Resplendent in clear sunshine,
Verdant limbs swaying—
I adjust my new t-shirt,
Hoping she’s looking over.
So many things to
Take care of,
Seemingly all at once,
Barely able to cope
With even one task,
Let alone many,
A haze of anxiety.
He remembers a time
When it all seemed easier,
Though, upon reflection,
It might have never been.
Sitting on a bench
In the middle of
A bustling park,
He spots a friend
Across the way,
Then remembers
What happened.
It all seemed to be
Going so well,
Friendly, enthusiastic interactions
Jarringly replaced by something
Very different,
Coming from a place
Not typically
Shown to strangers.
For a while
It was no longer happening.
They wondered why.
It all returned to
Normal after a while,
Unfortunately.
