Jars of Fireflies blog @ www.jarsoffireflies.ink

If I could
I would uncork it
and whisper
“I’m sorry”
as I drained every thought of you
glugging
down the sink

but instead
I will sit
and let the wind carve you out of me.
I’ll welcome the rain
in great sweeps,
and beg it,
to bleed me dry
of you

and maybe the sun will come up
on a day
that it doesn’t hurt so much,

and warm the stone that will become
my heart,
beat smooth
by the drum of disappointment
from the fall

And you’ll just be this beautiful,
distant thing that happened,
but never to me

--

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Jars of Fireflies blog @ www.jarsoffireflies.ink

When the cracks grew too deep, and the tape stopped holding,
the ceramic itself began to shift
and I broke

I slid right out of myself and I knelt,
picking through the glass with sliced hands,
trying to assemble it all again
from memory that was only fading
as the days went on
without me in them

I cradled the rounded edges that were my heart
in both hands
as I looked at this heap of breath and lungs
and wondered,
how it could have ever been me.

I didn’t realize that I could never go back,
that we aren’t meant to.

That we’re supposed to build something new

--

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Jars of Fireflies blog @ www.jarsoffireflies.ink

The swings we once hung in still drift,
the wind whispering to them, always,
of who we were when we were young

The merry-go-round twirls
at every carnival,
its song a ghost
of memories,
floating in the night

The stars above spin around, and around,
until they blur in streaks of light
across our sky,
until we can no longer tell
which one of us
is spinning faster

And time moves many things
but more than anything
I hope it moves me,
closer to you

--

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Jars of Fireflies blog @ www.jarsoffireflies.ink

you can look into the mirror and say
“these are all the different people I was today,”
so you can move your hands over your chest
and hear them reply,
“but this is the only one you ever need to be”

--

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Jars of Fireflies blog @ www.jarsoffireflies.ink

How boring that would be,
a life without adversity

I wouldn’t trade the events of my life
for all the fantasies this reality has to offer

Like a strike to flint yields flame
it is our experiences that spark into creation
the people we come to be

--

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Jars of Fireflies blog @ www.jarsoffireflies.ink

If only we could lie within our own chests, looking up
watching with distant eyes the shapes that drifted there

I’d see the shape of a closed window and a light that won’t turn back on

I’d see the shape of a man with a child on his shoulders as they comb the beach in the throes of a storm

the shapes of anchored, restless boats that long for open water

a sunlit pier off which feet dangle and the drips of popsicles cascade into the sea,

and I’d see you

--

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Jars of Fireflies

Jars of Fireflies

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