Dusk to Dusk

Stitching demons with needle and thread. Long capes that shatter the wind. Deep inseams flowing into utter darkness.

Some tragedies are eligible for grief. While others stand in line. Hours. Days. Months pass and they never receive their bread. Because distribution is contingent upon frailty and expectation. We're always falling. But we don't always break.

He told me to believe, but I didn't listen. Disappointment's varicose thoughts all I could accept as they throbbed in my skull.

I don't believe in believing. I need proof. And so I look for, but seldom find evidence for their truths.

Something told me I should let him. A carefully placed missive in an otherwise perfect sentence.

So I did.

Plushed up my tail and let him chase it. Until fur lay everywhere.

The benefactor of his loneliness. The queen to his empty throne.

We poached the darkness to extinction.

It must've meant something because I still write about it.

I should've been sad when he was gone, but I wasn't. It was all too easy to let him leave. Because for every moment I loved them I spent twice as long knowing they never could.

It's a fluid transmission. From knowledge to acceptance. Like the way the sun has completely vanished from the sky before we even notice it is dark again.