allmymetaphors:

Please do not cry for love lost:
There are bones as white as the cracks in your eyes
buried beneath an ancient city, and I
am crying over spilt coffee and ashtrays.
Sometimes life moves too quickly.
Sometimes I find myself spitting metaphors into the air as if we need
more meaninglessness here.
I need more rest.
I need to second-guess myself less.
I need to not mourn over loneliness because this air
is the same air breathed by nights and kings
now turning to dust in the catacombs beneath me.
The water I drink comes from the tears
of a woman hundreds of years ago
weeping silently at her bedroom window -
we both feel loss the same way
so how can I say that i’m lonely?
How can I pine over men, sex, and money
when there is an entire library of human suffering in the eyes
of every stranger I pass on the streets? When people out there love me?
When first-meetings bleed into friendships so easily?
When there must be someone just as strange as me
sobbing over the same heartbreaks and feeling
outcast from everything?
Please do not cry for lost love:
The universe spins careful webs around you
and sometimes in the shadows you doubt her
but there is a certain grace and beauty to this darkness.
The hurting makes you human,
tugs your roots back into the earth where your decomposing ancestors say that this
is the blessing of being.
The only way of seeing your place in the grand scheme of things.
Cry if you must, but remember that lust fades to boredom so quickly,
and some loves are meant for forgetting.
Your tears will fall again someday from rainclouds and back into the ocean.
It is a blessing to feel anything at all.