Still

What an odd ache this is

Building from the center of my chest into an awkward shape

It pushes out, out and up and through and yet is still contained inside me, though the mass is swirling and rushing I am still

Still here

Still quiet

Still MAR

Still confused by all that is alluded to and never said

Confused by the direct yet hidden fingers that point my direction

What does it mean, am I reading too far into lines we know arent crossed

Or are our fingers crossed so tightly we dont care to know any more than that...

And I am still

Still like a drop of settled dew

Still like a candle waiting to be lit and blown out

Still like the lazing cat in the window

Still, as still as I can be alive

One can not fully understand a thing unless one lives with it

Author's Note

Just a working out of feelings, finding words to recreate thoughts