The gentle exhaustion of a memory of sadness,
Balances a little heavily on my soul.
Its weight tells me the story,
Of how this space can hurt.
And yet, I have a seemingly indefatigable urge,
To be vulnerable tonight.
And show something of my soul,
Or make something that I consider beautiful.
The words are warm and effervescent,
Like late night piano,
Listened to while wrapped in a woollen jumper.
And the peace and stillness of midnight.
