hope.
you careless, precarious thing.
so soft on my hands, so gentle,
caressing my skin with promises
you can never keep, with reassurances
that are too big for both you and me to
hold on to. your whispers are full
of tortuous niceties and unbearable joy,
they paint the sun and the stars and the moon
in front of my blind irises.
but when
you fall and break and shatter
all around my scattered pieces,
i cannot tell you apart from
my own undone, unfinished messes.
and somehow you manage to take
away the light;
i am blind again.
hope, come back.
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