Things do not get easier (TW: suicidal ideation)

Things do not get easier.

The towering waves of the ocean do not lessen

the howling gales of the North wind stay ever bitter

the oppressive heat of the Sahara still bakes the earth.

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How do I convince myself that life gets easier

when I still see no way out of this torrential rain, seven years in?

Is it really easier if the voices in my head still yearn to fly for one last time

over and into the rushing highway below?

My clothes are soaked,

umbrella, broken

tears mix with rainwater ⎯

or does the sky weep?

When can I find solace in the storm?

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So I don raincoats, boots, and warm clothes.

I learn to dance in the rain and laugh when thunder roars.

Things do not get easier ⎯ the downpour continues, but

I may find joy in the storm again.

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No, things do not get easier.

But dolphins ride out the stormy waters and find calmer seas

reindeer huddle for warmth and comfort their kin

and cacti still stand tall in the cracked desert sands.

Life finds a way, if only you let it.

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