I am back in places I should not be, 

Within arms I once begged to release me. 

These are not memories I pride myself on.

I have ventured into this part many times before, 

Only to run as far as I could. 

There is only so much running that can be done, 

before I remember the world is round.

 

You have to breakdown to breakthrough is what I tell myself. 

But how many times can a glass shatter before it is irreparable?

 

We are united by this hurt that engulfs us, 

Surrounded by the grief we endure.

With this sorrow, with this loss, we are reduced to children; 

craving our parents and the softness of their voice on rainy mornings.

The unspoken words have always been the easiest to swallow

and the sweetest to taste.

 

 

(I picked the blackberries by your grave, the crumble will be delicious)