dim glade
We love in past tense.
That’s the pattern—
We show up after.
After the sirens fade into background static,
After the phone call cracks the spine of a normal day,
After the headline, the hashtag, the black-and-white display,
Then, we finally have something to say.
We build our kindness like emergency exits—
Clearly marked,
But only used when everything’s already on fire.
Where were we?
When their hands were still reaching?
When their voice wasn’t a memory, but a frequency—
Still broadcasting, still breathing?
We scroll past people in real time,
But replay them in rewind.
Turn living souls into “Gone Too Soon” headlines,
Because hindsight is the only time,
We decide to be kind.
We are architects of memorials,
But amateurs at maintenance.
We wait for the collapse—
To finally notice the cracks in the pavement.
We say, “They meant so much,”
But treat them like background noise in the present tense—
Like love is expensive,
Until grief makes it priceless.
Why does it take a goodbye,
To make us say hello?
Why does silence feel stronger—
Once it’s too late to be weak?
We gather in black,
But couldn’t show up in blue.
We hold candles now—
but couldn’t hold you.
We write paragraphs
Where a sentence would have saved—
A “You matter,”
A “Stay,”
A “You’re not alone today.”
But no—
We wait for the echo,
The absence,
The AFTER.
Because AFTER is easier.
AFTER doesn’t require risk.
No chance of rejection—
When the moment no longer exists.
AFTER lets us be heroes—
In stories already done—
Where the ending is written,
And the saving saves no one.
So here’s a thought—
Before the next AFTER arrives uninvited:
What if we lived in the before?
What if we said it while it still mattered—
While hearts were still open,
Not shattered?
What if we celebrated breathing,
Instead of mourning breath?
What if we showed up for life,
The way we do for death?
Because maybe…
Just maybe…
The reason AFTER feels so loud,
||Is because BEFORE was far too quiet.||
unkempt blade
topaz girder
opal blaze