Still. P.

The most beautiful moment.

Tears.

Like oceans overflowing barricades.

The flood.

I Drown for your breath.

I blow your face,

perfectly still.

Serene, tragic.

Tiny, fulfilling.

Why did this happen?

The tears keep coming.

Even now,

hidden in a painful box, my mind, pandora guards.

I remember the first embrace.

I arrived, late.

You were thrown to me

before I could catch my breath.

before I could compose.

before I could gather. be strong.

Floods came. They still do.

Here you were.

Yet were not.

Why.

I blow.

It doesn’t come.

I prayed and I blew and still you were.

Surrounded.

Tragedy. Beauty. Nightmares.

Here you were.

We are lucky I suppose.

We treasure those days, in the depths of our chambers, they are ours.

Precious. Untouched by the demons.

No one can tarnish.

I took you and bathed you

as the tears engulfed my soul

slowly and quickly

drowning a piece of me.

Of our family.  

Pain touching

my every capillary.

Still I blew.

You broke me.

You connected me.

You taught me.

Real love.

Real meaning.

Still.