Burials


It all left me then,
that summer of rainstorms and regret.
It rained at her funeral, it rained the whole time.
Everything they built for me crumbled,
and fell down the hole with her.

The eyes in the mirror never met,
only picked at places it could perfect,
the mind behind them rattling some toneless tune .
The darkness always felt right and wrong,
validated but not quite natural.

It all came back this summer -
as soon as I walked in the door.
This time its not teacups of regret, but cups of joy.
With every sip I savor the sunlight's shine
the limitless love you lend me
and the perfection of possibility.

This summer I will not be buried with her.

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