The sunny days are gone.
The soft embraces were all false.
I preserve your memory in my most sacred archive.
Years have passed, and I still carry your trace.
I wept through endless nights, consuming napkin after napkin.
My tears became a flood where solid ground once stood.
The flood kept running, restless and untamed in its mood.
My own sorrow claimed me, reaching even the furthest margin.
I sank into the abyssal depths.
The ocean of tears became my wreath.
My lungs filled with airless breaths.
My sight surrendered to the shadow’s wrath.
I should have died, should have reached you.
Yet even death refused me; I am possessable only to you.
The ocean left me adrift, and still I searched for you.
I lost my vision, yet I still saw what looked like you.
I tried to swim; I was determined.
But I was seized; I was confined.
Water surrounded me on every side; I was devoured.
And still my eyes wept; I remained bereaved.
It was your trail that drowned me—
the ocean carrying your unholy legacy.
And I, a creature of the comfortable surface,
must learn the discipline of breathless agency.
You never died; you became the ocean.
You hold me tightly; I became your kept orphan.
My cries are your treasures;
you gather them like amulets.
Draw me in; turn me off and on again and again.
Let me add myself to your waters—
my eyes are your faucet.
― Atrona Grizel