Fig is an Inverted Flower

You live like you’ve lived before and you grieve like you’ll not live again. Time is a joke or is it the longest running joke on us? I know soon enough I will not remember, and sooner yet, I shall not care. The collarbone, the tears, the intimacy of our phone calls. It was real for a breath and now it is stale. Memory like bread that has been expired but you don’t see the mold, it’s a shame to throw it out already. I’m going to drink my confused decoction of luke warm iced coffee and I sip from that glass straw I will sigh at the echo of your laugh… somewhere tucked in my cells still holding on to the softness you touched me with. And yet, once the coffee is over, I will remember that the highest grace, the most precious thing I have given myself is the ability to say no and walk away from lunar love. No use it is, these periodic desires and waning feelings. My heart is steadier and it seeks the radiance of love that shows up eagerly, naturally, rotation after rotation until revolutions have passed by and our hands are still in each other’s, firmly, gently.

but! we! cannot! simply! sit! and! stare! at! our! wounds! forever!