Helicopters. poetry stories

mjkemp91I like to create and inspire.
Autoplay OFF  •  8 months ago
It doesn't seem like grief and loss ever get any easier-no matter how times you experience it.


I suppose the waiting room—

Unlike the glove compartment,

Unlike the restroom,

Unlike the Arabic numerals,

Is fairly accurately named.

For all we can do is wait.

Wait with our hearts heavy and our minds full. Our thoughts are an unlimited source of energy that propel us onward.

We wait like helicopters endlessly circling above a field of hope in which we know we can never land.

While we circle we dream of what might have been, knowing that eventually our fuel will run out.

We await the undefeated inevitable, the winds which will permanently change our course.

Each time we get close enough to the ground to close our eyes and brace for impact, it only takes a little bit of news (good or bad) to send us back to the sky to circle around once more.

We know what the ending will be, but all we can do is wait: killing the time you so desperately wish you could get back.

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