Perhaps the gaps in me
are strange unknowable
things, shimmering pools of
all my existences torn out by
this life’s relentless realities
Perhaps, where now I see those
dim dark spots of empty chilling
grey, I once was tailored whole into an
ocean of light and endless possibilities
Perhaps when I glance away from
the voids I fail to fill, but which
always follow, I’ll find an echo, an after
glow, a faint but shining gleam, a shadow
of my once roaring brilliance
Perhaps one dull and ordinary moment
I’ll find my hands filled with threads of
blazing scorching life - and I will slowly
stitch myself together once again
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