Clueless Ink

That ache you don’t know about-

I hope you never have to.

No therapy, no doctor, no wisdom, no girls’ night-

nothing can cure it. It fades but stays—chronic, and ironic 

Every new face, every fleeting night-

pretending to feel young, to feel alive-

just a distraction.

Like Celeste said, the journey from being a stranger to a stranger again-

that’s the ache I’m speaking of.

It’s like sitting across from each other, pouring everything into one canvas,

and just when you’re ready to hang it up-

it’s not a clash of colors or dimensions;

it’s blank.

When equations fail and medicine falls short, you find where it aches

Now all I have is a wall of canvases- different colors, different faces-

but within them all, one face fades and grows.

That’s me. That’s you.

In the end, all you keep is the art it leaves behind,

and the patience to mix your tears with water,

because this is life-

and sometimes, it aches.