It died.
We can debate about why – but let’s not.
It died, It’s dead.
Most of the time, I accept that.
Other times I think the laws of nature do not apply to me.
I start dreaming about resurrections,
Re-read letters full of words we no longer mean,
Start thinking maybe it is still alive.
No really, maybe it could be?
It can’t. It died, it’s dead.
But what if, now just hear me out,
What if maybe I turn back? What if, maybe, it’ll be just as I left it?
It won’t.
I turn back anyway, because obviously, because of course.
And what do you know,
It died so,
it’s dead.
I’m shocked, genuinely.
I did not see this coming.
I could have sworn it was right behind me, alive and well.
But I turned around and it was indeed, dead.
Well.
It died.
We can debate about why – but let’s not.
It died, It’s dead.
Most of the time, I accept that.
Other times I think the laws of nature do not apply to me.
I think, and I read, and I turn, and I’m shocked.
Then, I think, and I read, and I turn, and I’m shocked.
Maybe one day,
I’ll maybe learn,
That maybe we are not meant to turn back.
And maybe,
Maybe that’s okay.