pieces

Rainbow lorikeets fly off into the distance and things are real once more

 

 

The wind resurrects pieces of debris, lilting and swirling leaves in an arbitrary pattern. An arbitrary dance. And to the same beat, my emotions lilt and swirl, rising and crumbling and reviving  themselves as though in a cyclic maelstrom. Outside it’s never stagnant. Inside, it’s no different.

 

 

The air is still but not stagnant. There is space for my heart beats to even out. They finally even out. Is this what it means to be calm? Breath becomes magnetic and amplified. How many more times can life start again? How many more revivals do I have left inside this skin?

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