Sometimes there's too much inside - too much to fit, so you try to open the valve and it bottlenecks trying to get out, and then, well, it gets stuck, no transfer, no osmosis, no equalization of pressure.
You know, sympathy is one thing. One thing that's altogether more bearable than empathy.
The Finch (aka:2am over Coffee)
There's a finch in the shadow of the mountain.
She says there are no words tonight.
My chest aches with the knowing that
she's irreparably right. There is only bent silence
and snow-painted footprints that begin to fade
in the light of guilt and too-damn-cheery
blossoms of a meaningless garden.
And there are tears, but I don't know whose they are.