It is not hard to admit how little I know about sacrifice
(next to nothing). It is not hard to miss the way it was,
to break promises, to drop down to the bottom of the ocean
onto the sea bed and not sleep
and pretend while breath is held
that life is just a hum
and a (wo)man can in fact be an island.
What is hard is learning the surface and how to breathe
with lungs that tremble.
It is harder still to accept that it will never be the same as it was,
but it will still be,
and that life is more like
a supersonic scream than humming-soft.
That life is loud and you are allowed to make noise too.
It is hard to admit wanting anything as much as you do.
The hardest thing is accepting
that the noise you will make will be clamouring
and you will be heard, whether or not you deserve to be,
which doesn't actually matter at all.