I walked beneath wet snow
in April and my heart
was full.
Even
if
it's
the last
snowfall I ever see,
my heart was full.
I'm filled with memories
of what I'll never see
again, snowflakes
rushing across
the glow
of
the
street lamp
outside our long
ago sold suburban
home and then gone,
vanished into darkness.
Furious squals, rushing
this way and that, and
then gone as if they
never were.
And I'm okay with that.
I have an infinite number
of horizons to paint. Inside
this emburdened world,
weighed down
with such
grief
and
misery,
each path
severing a hundred
thousand others, and
sometimes we know which
is which and sometimes
we only recognize in
the aftermath what
we traded away,
and
sometimes
the worst isn't the
regret but the realization
that you have none.
I stand here, at his side,
and I regret none of it.
I'm flawed.
Not just imperfect
but fundamentally flawed.
Not broken, but badly formed.
I'm whole but terrible.
There's no way to win,
just an infinite
number
of
ways to lose.
And it's in that
recognition that we break.
Or maybe that's just me.
April 18, 2026
