Cruel and True

It's August, and I am planning. 

I am planning a gift that I don't want to give for a celebration I certainly don't want to celebrate. 

I am mourning the loss of a life that she didn't get to live. 

Yet gaining a best friend.

It's spring and I am celebrating.

He is here and he is new.

This time will be different.

It is September.

I am mourning again.

We shouldn't be here, losing again. 

Planning another gift.

A worthless token that can't bring him back.

And I am empty.

That August and the next September have taken my hope.

Stolen my innocence.

And buried two perfect angels.

Days pass.

Weeks, months. Life carries on.

It has a way of carrying you with it.

Unwilling or willing.

Sun shines.

New lives begin.

New beginnings are forged.

It is November and here they are.

Small. Perfect. Smiling.

A constant reminder that terrible occurs,

but healing follows.

Hope perches on your shoulder

and carries you through.

But there are reminders

Harsh and cold

Cruel and true

That leave me here in January

Once again, wondering why. 

Why is something so wanted so cruelly taken away? 

Why are we made to endure such pain?

It is January and I am broken

Wandering

Lost