cold northern wind

Will there never not be tension
this taught rope of unfinished business
this cyclone of sucking air that does not allow anything to be still
the droning roar that drowns out the words I need you to say
and the debris in the air that distracts you from seeing my tears
and then also
a frozen place where everyone stands scared and dazed
wondering at what was and could have been
and at the same time going through motions
that look like moving on

But stick me in a room with you and it all flies back in
might as well be a flock of black crows squawking
rushing in on a cold northern wind
filling the room
with high pitched cackling
and mocking our attempts
at making a way past or through
it doesn't matter much which

No matter the damage or how much I try to muddle it
or reason about how there is no trust in it
the road just seems to be leading back to you.



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