Empty Epiphanies

it's cold again. the way it used to be. silent and small. on the fingertips of surrender. in the fist of rage. we don't really remember, but we're still unable to forget.

some years it's always winter. some seasons there's nothing but rain.

we don't know. we never have. what it means. what we think it should. our paper grins tear too easily. our plastic hearts always break.

the sky falls and we try to catch it, but it's much too heavy. time races and we struggle to keep up, but it's much too quick.

we're searching for corners on a circle. bargaining with distance for more of the same. writing love letters to scavengers and thieves.

it's still cold. somethings never change.