We die little by little
By things unsaid
Unexplained
The mortal wounds to the living soul.
Love, unexpressed.
We do it every day,
Swallowing the softer words.
Less embarrassing stuck in my throat than hanging off your ears.
Hugs, unhugged.
Touches, untouched, put in a pocket.
We skate on the surface of our feelings
For fear of falling in.
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It was my cousin’s funeral yesterday. Today the world is not the same.
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Miniatura.
It’s two weeks to the Min, not one. Sorry. (Can’t get the staff.)
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