It’s weird
not to be missed
like
really missed
or to be
loved
like
really loved
and by that
I mean the missing that
ruins your life
obsessive bombardment
at
2am
high
most likely
and loved like
I want to destroy
you
kind of love
isn’t it weird
how the whir of
a half- functioning
space heater
can’t replace that
and how
a possible
I wonder what
she’s doing
while I carefully fold
tomorrow’s briefs
onto the couch
just doesn’t do
it justice?
How peace
makes you
flinch
and the gentleness
of normalcy
so uneasy
what is real
really?
The Lightly Dark 