12.14

filling. overflowing. brimming.

that is how the tides wash over. and like a sweeping wave, they fall upon.
covering, smothering. drowning you. suffocating. choking. 

making contact with the edges of your body. pushing, stretching, yearning for an outlet 

and then its sucked out like a vacuum, without resistance. the tears flow.

and flow.

and 

flow.

those drops that wet and caress the surfaces they touch,

feed a seed stuck deep

and what blooms isn't vibrant or dainty.

instead a plain plug that makes itself known

every time you move 

or breathe.
a dull ache. a persistent presence.

the ones who feel this lingering restlessness

must walk the earth as clouded mirrors

passing each other not recognizing.

kindred in kind,

but concealed by their radiating darkness.

but sometimes the light hits the surface

just right

and a glimmer catches your eye.

and you peer to look closer

touching the cold, smooth surface

that refuses to give way

proving that it exists outside of you.

solace.

a melancholic feeling of light that bounces from shining surface 

to surface

the cloudiness washed clean

by those tears that came from that very darkness.

and we shine.

and shine

and 

shine.