Hurt is the stone I carry in my pocket,
solid and cold to the core,
well-worn,
smoothed with time,
a heaviness that sits deep within.
It is a weapon to throw at my enemies,
a means of defence
or attack.
But sometimes my aim is off—
such a small thing can leave a big mark.
I want to throw it away,
skim it lightly across the surface of a clear blue lake.
Watch it bounce impossibly—
weightlessly!
Creating barely a ripple in my life…
Instead, I grip it tightly,
like a child with his beach discoveries,
afraid to show the world,
but clinging to it all the same.
I meet you there,
crouched on the sand—
your clenched fist
housing a reflection,
not identical but a similar grey.
Together we build cairns—
layering let downs,
broken promises,
your grief and mine.
The past layered on the future,
each stone a memory—a thought—a feeling—
precariously balanced.
This could all be beautiful.
This could all come crashing down.