unstoppable force loving immovable object

the grief spills out like buckwheat honey

across terracotta greek tiles

and i'm still thinking about it.

i've been thinking about it since that day

and the time before that, when the morning

dawned and i knew—

i think i knew. that it was my last day

before things changed

and the days thereafter fell like a thousand dominoes

but i'm getting ahead of myself here.

there's an old saying. something about

an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object,

it's funny, isn't it?

what would really happen if two things like that met?

would the unstoppable force love the immovable object

for as long as it could push, and be pushed back upon,

knowing that equilibrium lasting forever

is the kind of thing for stoppable forces

and moveable objects?

i think—i know it's silly to think that thinking

could make a difference now, but

i think the immovable object did something beautiful

by refusing to budge. i think the unstoppable force

finally found something that made it pause—

—just for a moment. just while the days split

into befores and afters. just enough to learn,

however briefly, what it is like to move through honey,

through darling and dear,

still going forwards—but slower, and wiser, and grateful,

and changed.