there might be a story somewhere beneath the rubble

‍‍‍‍‍I watch it crumble
hold the fragments in my hands
and bleed with all the things
I can't change

If you'd asked me a year ago
what kind of book my life would be
I'd have told you it's a mystery
full of future adventures
and unknowns
if you asked me now
I'd say it's a tragedy

No one warns you about loss
how it breaks you apart
until there's nothing but dust
on your fingertips
everything you held precious
blown away on the wind

The storm...
maybe you saw it coming
but you were powerless to stop it
and now you're in the aftermath
wondering what you could have done differently
realising it doesn't matter
because what ifs won't change what is

So I close my eyes
‍‍and watch my world crumble
knowing I cant undo what's done
trying to remember
my life is not a book
penned by a merciful author

Because no amount of metaphors
or poetry
will save me
from the pain of losing you

© Indie Adams 2020