It’s not like in the movies—
When the girl cries softly,
Her teardrops falling gently,
Her lips plump and red like rubies.
It’s excruciating and loud—
With globs of tears leaving a trace
Of mascara staining her face,
In the only moment she’d allowed.
It’s carving your heart with every sob—
Heaving gasps of pain and despair,
Until you hear your heart pound through the air,
And remember there’s hope in every throb.
© Jade M. Wong
Reposted. The first of every month feels like a blank slate, so here I am, starting over again and remembering there’s still hope.