volcanic ash

a sign of time, of leftover loves, a signal that shifts the tectonic plates of chasms we thought had once been properly stitched up

only to wander upon them and find, they’d just been laid dormant

the roundest, warmest salt water tear rolled out, we let it commemorate

remembrance, a battle scar, a battle cry

one hundred and four years later, still eruptions

signs of love, of loss

a simple excuse for our defeat, and a victorious reason for our persistence, to love deeper, to love wider, to love more consistently

“to go to the places that challenge who we think we want to become”

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