It's all over but the crying, she said,
as she tucked the hair behind my ear.
We've always been so good at that part.
Crocodile tears and red noses and hiccoughs.
And eventually no one is looking anymore.
No one cares about the tears or what he did to earn them.
It's about what we're going to do now.
Find a grindstone to press our nose to.
Hug our stuffed animals at night like they were real.
Trudge through the days until they blur into
something that we can walk across.
We're not better, we just can't sit here any longer.
The world is still moving.
Somewhere, someone would be proud.
Or sad.
Or blissfully ignorant forever.

06/04/2017

Posted on 06/06/2017
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