Love is holding on



but love is letting go.

I'm trying.

an incomplete trilogy

It's been a month.
A month since the torrential wind
brought in rocks, hails, stones-

the world is sand, sand, sand
                                               ( and like anakin says, i hate sand, it gets everywhere. )

I hate it. the chalky feeling inside the mouth,
the bristle sensation against withered muscle,
the taut pull of pressure wrapped around the ruins of...

I hate this. the sparring wisp of air that struggles to get in,
the wisps of muscle moving with each passing-,
the tugging of each beat of life.

but I don't hate you.
I just hate the fact that you can't decide;
 trapping us in this land of waste of maybes-possibly-hopefully-

we could pick up where we left, and finish the bloody trilogy into a sequel all on its own.

it's been a month,
come back