As I allowed the water to run over my hair,
my gaze fell upon the bit of sky through the severed blue curtain;
restless for a taste of purity.
Perhaps being broken is just an illusion,
though truly the ache attached strikes me as I write this—
like the shift in formation of clouds; are we beyond repair?
And if the light from the twilight sun shines through
the cracks of things,
could it be that we are overlooking the possibility of it being fixed?
Is it a myth?
The curtain dances with the burst of wind that enters,
either we open ourselves to new perspectives
or perceive only
what is visible to the naked eye—
I focus on the slopes brightly illuminated with almond blossoms,
my nocturnal heart
adamant to be itself no matter how hard the state of affairs sting—
broken never existed to begin with.
Photo credits: Mauri Moskowitz, Instagram
A Skylover Wordlist: Nocturnal, almond, sting 💝
Posted for the Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United