there was always hope. even when we, bloodied by our broken dreams, even when the echo of failure tried (and failed) to overtake our countenance of light... even so, we were broken yet deeper. somehow, depths beneath which we thought our souls could go, down where the guts of us cried, stop! from which we could not twist away, as our hearts sank into the cold gray of what was left from where we needed to win (and failed) and so tasted like the desperate fumes of dying, the earth no longer our home, we had just the dampness, wet and ruined leaves everywhere, that nowhere did they belong, nor we, who folded as if with the dying of the light not to die, worse, we felt… imagine then i did, why? why would you say something like, “i’ll love you till the world stops worlding…” (i thought i heard). i thought i heard it. whether we forget the taste of light itself, something kept us from imagining that we would end, not like this. as if we could so stumble, even here into the depths of our hollows, and deeper. even as all desperate notions flew away. there was always hope.
