This feels like the moment after carrying something for too long. That strange exhausted softness where even light feels heavy and distance settles into everything.
“surface / not keeping it” really caught me. So did “what / warmth forgot”. There is something here about thawing that does not feel hopeful in the usual sense, more like the quiet reality of what is left behind once survival loosens its grip.
I think that is why it stayed with me. It feels less like reading a poem and more like standing inside a feeling I recognise but would struggle to name myself.
Thank you, Nat. That’s a really close read, and I love you caught the exhaustion or tiredness of distance, but in a soft way. You’re right, it’s not really hopeful, more a letting go, as you say.
This feels like the moment after carrying something for too long. That strange exhausted softness where even light feels heavy and distance settles into everything.
“surface / not keeping it” really caught me. So did “what / warmth forgot”. There is something here about thawing that does not feel hopeful in the usual sense, more like the quiet reality of what is left behind once survival loosens its grip.
I think that is why it stayed with me. It feels less like reading a poem and more like standing inside a feeling I recognise but would struggle to name myself.
Beautiful and quietly haunting.
Thank you, Nat. That’s a really close read, and I love you caught the exhaustion or tiredness of distance, but in a soft way. You’re right, it’s not really hopeful, more a letting go, as you say.
Thank you!
Love this one! The last line! Killer!
Thanks Dorie! ❤️
This is poetic meditation on the elements, evoking a sense of calm and wonder. It’s a lovely read.
Thank you @Aaliya ❤️
There’s something about this that feels half dream, half exhaustion. Like thoughts dissolving as you read them. Really beautiful 🌹
Thank you 😊
What time leaves behind feels existential and dissolving, like time itself. Nothing remains, even darkness melts. But then there's memory. <3
What a lovely idea Petra, that all is left is memory. Maybe held by rocks?
Hmm, let me think on that. :)
Hehe!
What stayed with me was the feeling that nothing in the poem fully disappears.
Everything seems to loosen, drift, soften into distance, and yet still remain in another form of holding.
Especially:
“ice / holding / what / warmth forgot”
That quiet persistence moves through the whole piece.
Thank you Antonio. The idea of persistence was staying with me as I wrote the piece, so I'm glad that came through.