this is what we do.
we laugh.
we seek comfort when we ache.
we lash out, we hide, we sleep.
we don't sleep, but instead daydream at night
about the one that got away,
or the one that came back, damaged and smaller than
we remember.
we hurt each other in ways we cannot imagine ever doing.
we hold hands.
we ask forgiveness, and we dole it out unconditionally.
we cry, we weep. for days on end.
we love, and want to love, and want to be loved.
we wonder why, why not, how is it possible, when.
we dress our wounds as best we can.
we whisper and make up new languages and nod knowingly.
we share secrets.
we trade secrets.
we keep secrets.
we live, not always holy and not always wholly.
we demand our days in court. we flirt and marry, drift
apart and back again. we want to be happy and rich,
but mostly happy. and rich.
we blink, we surprise each other. with words
or tiny actions.
we suffer, we weep. we ask forgiveness.
and we dole it out unconditionally.
this is what we do.