Searching

She broke herself into shards—pieces so sharp they pierced and bled. Yet she went on, gathering them one by one, arranging and rearranging. Time had collected each small tile, coloring it with its hues, setting them in place—or so it seemed. Each square glinted with hope, emanating the warmth she longed to hold. Each fragment carried stories the ears yearned to hear, and the heart, overflowing, narrated.

But today, those core cells—once caressed and nurtured—betrayed her. They refused to stand with her optimism. They refused to appear in her company. Instead, they whispered conspiracies in her ears, poured poison into the very heart she had wrapped in moss. They told her they were growing cold. She could not believe them. She dared not. For to do so would be treachery. Dissidence.

mellow rays of sun

she finds no solace in

damp clothes drying for days

And so, the unravelling of the mossy yarn began. She struggled to find its end, to know where to start. She searched along each thread, tightly wound around itself, binding the last of its oozing warmth. But warmth had already been summoned away; each drop was commanded to depart. Still, she coaxed the threads, until the very last beat, when the shining end flashed with a final glimmer of hope. She seized it in that moment of glory. With one pull, all was undone. The heart lay bare, throbbing—no heat left to shield it.

shards lie on the floor

crumbling into silent dust

rains fall—soil again