Cracks

Words fail.

The end of the day - this is the truth. They are small strokes. Very small. I wouldn't trust my weight to a single 's' and I can't picture a world where a 'w' could hold me up.

When I need them, they flee. Hiding away. Places I cannot reach. Usually behind memories of the mundane. The most important ones have hidden themselves in text messages from an unremarkable Monday.

Is it a curse of hindsight or gift of true insight that, in reflection, you look back and see the writing so clear. Do you write hope where there isn't any because you need it. So badly.

Thief. I see you, sitting there. You steal each line you read.

These are my thoughts and I'm flying them like kites against your screen. Can you see the colors and do they bring you joy, as they do me?

Life is so beautiful. So very beautiful. It is hard, too.

Today, everything changes