There is a heavy unwillingness to let go.
It is as if I discovered the Rosetta stone
A decade too late and now am perplexed
On what to do with the answer key.
Everyone else feels as if they are smoke and mirrors.
Nothing fills this wasteless void.
If you want me to let go, I will in numberless forms
But there is a tiny crevice in my heart
That cannot, nor will not let go.
There is a magic to this thread you wish to break.
There is beauty in this destruction of all reason.
Somehow the locked gate in a Garden refuses to decay
Even in the most frigid temperatures.
And even though
There are neon signs glaring “crazy”
I cant help but want to speak the language of us
Even though there is nothing left
But the red string of fate.
There is only You.
There is only I.
There is no art of letting go in this equation.
There are only murals of what once was.
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*hug*