Day 26: Painfully Perfect

Painfully Perfect

The moment you decide at 9:30pm that

headache and day-from-hell be damned,

you're going for a run to make it a five day streak - 

and the world is so surprisingly beautiful as you

drown in its humidity and

swim through the fog

and the street lights reflect off the leaves on the trees

and shine on the slick backs of toads hopping across the street,

and the grass is wet so the world smells like childhood

as fireflies sparkle a magic

you thought you had left behind.

The moment when you round the corner and the moon

is full and red and low,

heavy, and cloaked in fog the way

the sadness of this life envelops you on the days

you can't help but wear the cruelty of this world like a shroud

yet the world is so painfully perfect in this moment,

tears sting your eyes.

This moment

is the moment you realize the world

is only ever made of poetry

and one can only ever be so lucky

as to notice:

though the moon wears our pain on her face

and can barely lift herself up,

her beauty still crowns the sky,

and - with or without her -

the fireflies still manage

to shine.