Transformed
Transformed I hold on in my sleep clenched fists awakening with aching fingers empty hands... "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts," I think to myself drifting back into the same nightmare... footsteps heavy, looming shadows, and then the comforting sound of your voice calling my name "It hurts," I whisper as your gracefully opened palms receive my falling tears iridescent crystals spilling through your familiar, outstretched fingers "I will hold it for you," you repeat softly until my eyes begin to flutter open ...and for awhile this pain beautifully transformed Angela Minard 2017©