They say when it rains and the birds are out it’s going to rain all day. It’s been raining here for forty-eight hours, and I can see my reflection in puddles. The blurry quality to my outline matches my insides now. Forty-eight hours is 172,797 seconds more than the amount of time it took for me to recognize love—after his eyes met with mine. The puddles on the ground are nothing like the pools in his eyes. And three seconds changed my entire life. I created a language with my fingertips, embedded meaning into his skin with each pass. I left novels upon his flesh. Carved art into his bone. And infused his marrow with the essence of mine. We were one.
I watch this flightless bird hop from puddle to puddle and it reminds me of how I cannot make it fly. Only the bird can spread its own wings and soar. And no matter how much you love someone, you can’t fix broken people because they hold all their own pieces and parts.
The irony of this rainy day is sublime. I can finally look into puddles and not cringe at the reflection staring back. The mosaic of me created from all my broken bits is quite a lovely thing. Though, if it weren’t for those three seconds, I may have never been broken quite like this.
© Grace Black
I also dabble with poetry prompts on Instagram. Follow me on there, @graceblackink, for more daily poetry and play along. Do you dabble in wordplay as well? Let’s create!
Love and Ink,
cc image from Unsplash