A breathing poem

A box of tissues,

our tears. Our tide, of pain.

Go, back and forth,

Keep breathing.

Nothing will drive you

more mad than falling in love,


We are all alone on our island. Where the tide is real.

Back and forth, the waves of pain.

Were we so wrong?

Keep breathing.

Even if we stumble and fall.

Even if we feel nothing at all.

Our tide of pain will bring us back.