To drink

Ocean breeze and green trees, the rain has stopped and I can smell growth, birth, and renew. Lightening bugs dance against a dark black curtain as bright stars seek to be seen through the bright city lights. This is home, now. The hollow door closes calmly behind. The silver chain echoes as it bounces back against the jam and molding, exposing my variability to myself. No chains, nor distance can keep me. And smell of mom's cookies that she never baked lingers. I find a corner of the room, hidden from the light, to shed my first tear. I'd swim in it if I could, laps upon laps, gone forever into the blue horizon. Dive deep and fly away. Free from the pain that gravity brings. Its reality presses against my chest. And another falls. Mankind has spilled enough tears to fill an ocean. And yet, the earth is thirsty for more. Why do we make each other cry? To fill the glass. To drink. Drunk off the sorrows of others, the light shines through. The seed sprouts. And the birds sing.

Pain. It doesn't really hurt.