This is my power to believe in

When did you leave me? It happened as I woke. The dawn flickered in my eyes and you were gone. I left the keys in the tin tray on the table with the change. The change we emptied from our pockets last night. After the wet streets, filled with our laughter, our pants wet almost to the knees from jumping into puddles. Into the wet grass we slipped and fell and laid and kissed.

This is a story that never happened. This random, ephemeral she...unless. Unless I see her out of the corner of my eye, dawn flickering, just to the side of nowhere.

It doesn't really matter, where she is, where I am. This is what time follows, these little thoughts, real and not. They are beautiful, all of them. And time humors me with it's gentle tick.

In the end do our connections add to my value? Am I better for knowing you? Will you even look to the stone marking my grave as years pass? There is nothing left of any of this and now it's smarter to believe only in mountains as they mark their own graves for ever. Or as forever as we'll know.

You may read a gloom in me, you may like to feel a pity. 'Sorry you're sad and trapped and wicked'. But you just don't know what strength pushes the power, the quake that draws me, that explodes and blows through my mind and words. You just don't know.

I am a dark mutha who sees so much joy in this wicked, violently beautiful world. I am the black, the grey, the vibrant too. There is too much joy even in the dark to fade. Never, I will never be what you think even when you know what that is.