it's really not a big deal.
people all over the world go to bed lonely every night. somewhere, some time, someone fills a mug with shiraz because there's no point in getting out the grandiose crystal stemware. she's not here; why make a show.
the skylight echoes my thought drip: rain here, rain there, scattered runs of wettened thoughts and shadows play across the bead left behind.
it's not that bad.
all the waterproof • fade proof words i can scribble under today's date will not bring you home, next to me, breathing through your mouth and twitching while you dream. there is no ink to save me tonight.
perhaps i may rely
on the dreams of others.
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