Our love was destined to die.
Our flame meant to burn out.
In the darkness, we found each other.
But in the light we fell apart.
It wasn't our fault.
It was just our destiny.
Our fate.
What the universe had in store.
Just the end of a flame.
The end of the pain.
Now we will blossom into our own individual cores.
Broken, yet strong, we grow from the ashes.
Like a lotus, we muscle our way through the cold, damp earth and awaken into a new found beauty.
With light and love, we are regrown whole.
Full of music, full of color, full of life, and full of love, this too, is the destiny for us.
Not as two, but just as one.
About the Creator
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I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
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