Pulse

I watch the words form and
Take flight from your lips, trying to
Create sense from tragedy. When we
Are speechless I like to imagine
There are gardens growing in our throats
That we cannot yet see. One day
They will blossom and we will be
Overcome by the beauty of our
Self-expression, littering such seeds
To be watered with tears of joy
And no more tears of mourning.

Author: Erica V.

Always seriously joking and rambunctiously soft-spoken.

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