Sober

The struggle of entering sobriety.

My reflection stares back at me,
Rippled and blurred.
I appear as if I’m speaking,
Whispering words I dare not say.
A secret,
Our little secret.
Speaking a language only I know,
Soft and wispy as moving trees
In a quiet afternoon breeze.
It softens the blow
Of my sharp words,
Turns them into kisses.
I know it’s a lie
But it tastes so sweet -
Wildflowers and honeysuckle -
Can I revel in this taste
Just a little longer?
How sobering it is to get sober.
Now I must leave this breathtaking meadow,
Walk away from the quiet stream,
Leave the shade of the weeping willows
And step out into the light of day -
Let the light illuminate me,
All of me.
There is peace in this,
I just know it.

-H.