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by Adam Sifre


There was a spring, all cool water and warm days.

There were gentle rains that made me smile,

 storms that made me ache,

  winds that made me free.


 And there was this hole.


 Right there in the middle of everything.

 I can't remember why or when, but I remember thinking:

"it's just a small thing.

No big deal.


And then I was at the bottom.

It wasn't deep.  Not at first. 


There was plenty of sunlight overhead and I could hear running water;

 and birds.

It was colder than I was used to but there were patches of warmth.


It wasn't so bad.


Sometimes the hole felt deeper; 

was deeper.

And the sun didn't always shine and there was more damp than warmth.

Still, there were kisses and nice dinners and drinks and casual friends,  

With a few nights of real heat.


I would smile then. Glad to be out. 

But always there was a false patch of ground up ahead.

No matter how lightly I stepped, how hard I tried,

 It demanded to be found and I'd break the pie thin crust


tumbling

                    back into the hole.


Time passed, and I understood.

My dark place hadn't gotten deeper. 

Not really.

It was always there.  Always the

same. 


I had been in it hundreds of times before, and it was never a big deal.

Always temporary.


But the people.  The ones I

depended to extend friendly hands,

secure me with loving embrace;

warm me with sweet words;

and restore me with the smallest acts of kindness.


They had gone.  Faded.

Left.

Leaving only false images.


So for now, I am alone in the dark.

And it's cold. And I'm sad.

A little scared.

But there is a warmth in me as well.

A spark. Something beautiful.

Something I don't always see, but others will.


 Somehow there are always others that see.

And they will come. 

They will come with their own dark places

And we will help each other climb out into the heat.

We will bathe in the springs and find things forgotten and lost

 in each other.

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