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

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