It’s like all the colours on the page.
You can’t see the wood from the trees.
You know that somewhere in there lives joy and excitement.
As much as there is fear and grief floating -homeless- through the air.
A little bit of terror.
But it’s just all the colours on the page.
Not an ounce of coordination or cooperation.
All the feelings.
Stomach swollen. Throat swollen. Ribs sore.
Colour gone. Grey-brown murky splots of splat.
And that is the state of the page, now.
And then things will calm down.
And we’ll throw that page out and start again.
One colour at a time.