snowglobe songIt grew in lightless dissonance. The perfect balance of warmth and wetness which would deform any suckling and birth putrescence. Here, in the dank depths of hope deferred, it grew.They formed it with their broken voices and it strained to hear every lost syllable. Between the fragmented sounds, a constant; a muffled whisper of a melody. It sank as though it were made to exist beneath those muddy refrains.Little mocking bird, born without a song of its own. It stapled grounding reasons to each feather and chirped a scratched-out song to dandelions in the place of clouds. Rough notes swept across the seeds. A coarse melody was reborn in those colorless tufts, which suffocated every living thing on the small bird's horizon. The sullen snowglobe burned brightly as creatures tried to breathe under the ungodly weight of a once insignificant song.
For JDBA lot of people talk about when life begins. Some say it begins at conception. Love, however, can begin a long time before that. You can love the idea of a child, the notion, the plans for a future. You can love the dreams and the hopes. Similarly, although a life has a definitive ending, love does not.Even when a child is taken from us far too early the love remains, the traces that they were there remain in our hearts and minds, because love is not tied to a finite space of time. It doesn't know days, weeks, hours. All love knows is the beauty of another being and the pain of the loss of them.The only comfort we can take from all of this is that if our love for a child is not linked with how long they are alive for, it makes sense that neither is their love for us. That is how love endures, and surrounds us all everyday, and helps us survive the difficult business of living on without them. So today is a day for tears and healing and remembering the spaces in our hearts where those