There isn’t much to be said about this weekend. It had its Saturday and Sunday. It was 48-hours long. It played the hand that Life had dealt. It was good and bad, pretty and ugly.
There isn’t much to be said. Amid its love and hopelessness, there was us standing, stood — held taught and caught, watching the horizon. Not wanting. Wanting. Both and neither — guilty and glad. Torn.
It was not knowing the words to say while knowing there weren’t any, wishing there were.
It was distance — such distance. Too far.
It was kindness upon cruelty when Life should’ve been kind in the first place.
It was longing to make everything right.
It was loving harder the ones I hold dearest.
There isn’t much to be said.
It had its Saturday and Sunday, It was 48-hours long. It was a weekend that should not have needed to be. But it was and that’s the worst part about it.