Every day I wake up
And I feel as though I’m sinking in sand.
I’m not falling within a quick sand,
But instead slowly, steadily,
Sinking within a sand so deep,
I fear I won’t know I’ve hit the bottom
Until I’ve lost the ability to stand
On my own two feet.
And as I sink, the memory of you
Pulls me down further, deeper, longer
Than any sadness I have ever known.
And I try to grab an edge, find a firm footing.
But these self-made walls are made of sand
That morphs and twists and masquerades
As your beautiful hands.
Yet there are no hands reaching through this cloud.
There is only dirt, swallowing me, falling on me,
Hiding who I once was and now am.
What I wake to every day
Is the memory of you
Pulling me, weighing me down.
I try to catch every last detail of you,
Hold every single grain and memory,
As I watch this sand- your Illusion–
Fall through the cracks in my hands
And build up around my immobile legs
That I fear will be forever buried
In this sand.
—Written by Sandy Heights