The drum beats on.

“Like a wisp of smoke around the fire–
And the tom-toms beat
And the tom-toms beat
And the low beating of the tom-toms stirs your blood.”
— Langston Hughes

The drum beats on. Inside your heart, inside your head, on the ground as your feet hit the sidewalk, the track, the classroom floor. When I want to feel alive, I listen to the beat. Words throw me off. Words that send me into feelings, painful feelings I want to avoid. There is no bandaid for what makes us cry, there is no remedy for love lost. Time must pass but time doesn’t heal. It only makes the pain less acute, the tears less at the ready.

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