Cheers to the tears we shed for shared thoughts gone unled. Threads sewn, to stitch the torn. Commonly known crops are grown, in the garden of an idealist. Hard of harvesting, fresh healthy living becomes tacked onto a To-Do list; starved of the difference it takes, to tackle mistakes, bloated with boredom, festered freedom. A gift born, strengthened through scorn, both true & projected. Soft underbellies wish not to be neglected, but to be protected. Billions breath--squishy worlds spinning, we pass one another. Earth, made up of people & their perspectives, planets ruled by mysterious moons, phasing through Me, Myself & I --revolving that which is worth resolving around the idea of vulnerability. Quality in a life of ambiguity, how do we depict: sympathy vs pity. Notice, when implemented, compassion may make reality of that imagined. Dangerous it can be, to breath the atmosphere of another. Slow to think, equivocate, we suffocate. Is it then? Easier to crash land, into the world of another human? On purpose, we accidentally, alienate ourselves with a purpose: to find peace, rather than to be at peace. Believing (if even just briefly) we belong in a place where unity looks so easy-- of course it does. When the weathering of a foreign world has no validity on its’ visitors, the reality of the beauty behind the mountains and valleys, becomes lost on the lonely. So, where do the tears go? If not our own cups, or to guide others like crumbs away from dangerous gumdrops, or to slick a slip 'n slide out of the mouth of a world that will eat you alive, where do they reside? Instead, may they lay upon our lenses, to magnify our own life's circumstances. When fetching fruits for those who travel in fear of tasting what they long to hear, remember: that which you know to be sweet, another finds too bitter to bear. When I listen, I learn. Ghosts happily cross over, where bridges once burned. Places of past perspectives worth leaving behind were once worth my time & maybe the gravity of my fall doesn't translate on your planet at all, but of this I'm sure: my spirit is damned to problem solve, it is the only means to evolve-- assured--“cursed” is nothing short of “cured.