Hours after a windfall and a tree’s rustling leaves,
a path comes clear. The night air complements the rust and rot.
Rain isn’t the culprit, though. I am. I’ve spent so much time,
and my heart sags with love, but more: the sense of belonging
that so many have worked so hard to strip away. I was exiled,
but only from the rot itself. The sky? The mountains?
The highway laughed with me.
Belonging. For me, the cost has always been too high.
But perhaps my perspective is reversed. Let me fix that now.
No one was willing to pay my price,
which was caring and attendance, presence and endurance.
That was it! Truth is born from their confluence, and borne, too.
So is love worth talking about.
Too high! What they wanted was plastic and disposable, easy and cheap.
That’s what they called friendship. But it wasn’t then, and it isn’t now.
Exiled years and years now, I see that more clearly than ever before.
The path comes clear.
Featured: Feelings to Describe, by yours truly