In the end, the sun continues to rise.

Like clockwork, her tendrils of warmth stretch across the globe.

She wraps us all in her unwavering, mother-like companionship,

A reminder of her unwavering support of our endeavors.

She is a witness to every beautiful minute we spend floating through space.

She has seen every laugh that has graced my lips,

And every salt-stained tear that has dripped down my cheek.

In the end, the sun continues to rise.

Even after she has laid to rest for the evening,

And the world is blanketed in a world of quiet,

Her support is never far.

But the world’s quietness is only a facade.

My nights are full of water-soaked memories and water-logged sweatshirt sleeves.

At least, they have been as of late.

The first was encased in memories of sporadic Taylor Swift songs and shamrock shakes.

The second is nothing but heart-wrenching, stomach-hurling guilt over more confusion than I’ve ever felt.

At least, in the end, the sun continues to rise.

I want questions fulfilled that I know I’ll forever be too scared to ask.

I want answers I know I’ll never be gifted.

And not even the sun can give them to me.

But at least, in the end, the sun continues to rise.