torn

tomorrow’s a long day and it’s getting longer
a step out the door and into the daily time lapse
spinning circles dances light and dark
shapes and shadows
sound and wind
and the steady metronome of the heartbeat
the pulse
coming home in the evening to soft strumming and a vaccum of sleep
each day is an attempt
trying to pass something by
time
or maybe the harder self
not regrets, but struggles.  impurities, repeated flaws that seem impossible to escape.

old memories are a paradox
they bring the cliche wetness on the cheeks
the warming that lifts the corners of the mouth
but they are too hard
too cold
they cannot create anything new
unless the new lines of grief and age
a sinking empty stone of a heart 
searching for something that was misplaced the first time around
that, is remembering.

living, is something else.