anita lorraine moore

Some thing is hitting me hard. I can’t even see it. 1000 lightning strikes in my fingertips; 1000 floods in my heart.

Something has been buried, but I never got to go to the funeral. 1000 memories stuffed in synapses in my mind. 1000 miles I would have walked if I’d known I’d get to say goodbye.

Something inside is throbbing, not just the daily aches and pains, remorse and regret, creeping feelings. Thousands of them, swimming, then nothing’s left.

Something needs to be felt, not figured out. 1000 changes, 1000 wind chimes to signal when it changes direction.