The honeymoon is over.
Take your head out of the sand.
Shake your lids free of the grit, the sandman so generously poured into your eyes.
Arise from your sleep,
Awake from a dream, you called reality.
Pinch yourself, bruise your skin. Make it purple, so you remember.
The yawn of agony. The stretch of settling.
3 comments:
veendum eliamma!(shes back)....:)
sometimes the gritty reality is so much more fulfilling than the honeymoon period my love :)
True that...:)
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