sideofstars

invention

I often become overwhelmed with emotion that I feel cannot be fossilized into words.

I cannot simply say “I love you” because it does not encapsulate the depth of the cavity that immoralates in my chest.

And so I resort to creation.

In my writings, through my hands.

I love you

to the point of invention.

It is the source of my being, my devotion and adoration towards you.

It was the birth of craftsmanship that took place in the process of my assembling.

What am I, if not yours?

What do I do with my hands when they are just hands?

The only guarantee of the earth is that all things will wither and die,

Us most of all.

Some proclaim comfort in that, others dismay.

Though neither will change it.

The structure rots and the plants reclaim,

But I will still remember.

I will trace where your hands touched.

I will draw you by memory in the dirt of which I am buried.

I will sing your name in the face of death.

And I will still remember.

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