Done

It’s warmth and it’s comfort and you
can’t get too close but you
do because it makes you feel better,
it makes you feel whole and you
want it, want all you can get, which isn’t a lot but it’s enough so you
take it and you
hold on, tight.

It’s easy, it’s normal, it feels right (you’d forgotten what that meant,
how it felt) and you fall back quickly into it because
it’s there and it’s steady
you lean against it and it
holds you, holds you up, its warm arms around you,
the fire that doesn’t burn, that doesn’t hurt
yet.

No one seems to understand it but
you do, you think you do and you
take for granted your ignorance
the simplicity that wasn’t ever simple and you hold it like it’s
yours because to you it is
because you don’t know that no matter how close you get you can
never hold a flame.

Sometimes it burns bright and sometimes it burns
down, nothing but embers and used up coal and you
stare at it until you can’t see what you’re looking at
until you’re not sure if it was ever there at all and you
want it back, the warmth and the comfort and the easynormalright
but you don’t know where it went or where to look or
even if it’ll be there, anywhere, or
if you could hold it if you found it (you know you’d try)
and you don’t know whether to hope because it was there or
give up because it’s gone and
you don’t want to but you know that
sometimes all it ever is is
done.

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