tragedy Options

[*CrackedRearView*]

It's the bittersweet tickle of tragedy's delicate fingernail, tracing the silver silhouette of my jaw bones.

The silhouette is silver simply because the soft lumination behind it is eclipsed.

It really is a sight to see; a tear, crossing the eclipsed silhouette.

It's photo-worthy; the climactic moment.

When tragedy strikes, all the features of the human face are sent careening for the surface.

And when tragedy strikes, its victim holds up a tender hand, as if claiming a piece of oxygen that only the tragedy made divine.

I loved you, mom. Whether it was in the foreground, or background of your consciousness.

The tragedy is not your death. That will never be the tragedy.

The tragedy is that our parting words were carelessly, haphazardly thrown out into that now-divine air.

Temporary anger is such a devastating thing. It will leave you with what I'll be left with for the rest of my 'life'.

What I'm left with is the tragedy.

The fact that my raised, tender hand simply cannot capture a sample of that divine air.