Things I’m trying to make myself remember

Fact:

Screams can only sound when your lungs can expand

And your diaphragm hasn’t taken a vacation.

Fact:

The underside of the house you loved

Is swimming in prayers batted back to earth,

And sanity is a five hour long drive to the end of land.

Fact:

Today you’re pitching tents

And writing stories on skin,

Realizing that alone isn’t dangerous

Until always is tacked onto it

Fact:

Anchors sink.

Swimming only happens when you’ve given faith to water

And swallowed storms like gulps of sunshine.

Fact:

Excavating solar systems

Doesn’t mean you’ll find reason for the darkness

Only that there are treasures within it.

Fact:

When he walks around like he doesn’t notice the shadows,

When he thinks you don’t see the way his face changes,

You will hold onto every last memory

That tells you you’ll survive

Fact:

When the atmosphere cracks open,

Uncaps wounds still oozing,

When he tells you he’s leaving again

You’ll find peace in salt and shake the ash from your heels

Fact:

Remembering and forgetting are counter intuitive.

Circles aren’t circles if you slash the thing to pieces.

Fact:

Sharp edges cut best,

But the right words, barbed and persistent

Leave revenge strung out and incurable.

Fact:

There are too many facts you already know,

And time has only rewound again.