D

10,000 feet above myself and down below a storm is growing and building the way it has been for all of my life. Pockets of hope and pockets with holes. This worn coat covers me and keeps me strangely connected to the threads of what I once wished for each night and realized would never be each morning. But the one thing we are great at is pretending. And this lie we both share has left fingerprints on everything.
To look at someone and not know them, not feel much of anything for them, less sadness and wonder on how they let life slip away so easily, is like looking through them. Years later these tiny spots behind my eyes still see her…not there. This tightness in my chest, this pressure in my past continues to wake me and remind me of the broken and the bent, of the trying and the spent, of the countless letters written but never sent.