I lie in my room,
In the evening dimness.
In the summers dying heat
and stare out my window
up to the ever shifting branches
searching through to find glaces
of the end of day sky.
i listen to the cicadas
the crickets and the owls
we used to do this.
we would lie in the twilight swathed in blankets,
hips touching, hands brushing,
we would contemplate life
just feeling this endless moment
its beautiful serene stillness
where we don't have to do anything
where our breathing is amplified in the quiet
and the loudest thing in the room is how close to me you are
for me, these moments are now just loneliness.
because my room is the same in the grey light..
but it is no longer drenched with that wistful longing
to finally reach that next still moment, staring at the sky.
its now just grey and empty.
a lonely picture at the end of a lonely day.
i wonder sometimes if you miss how it was
do you look back to the soft silence of my room
wanting to hide in its serenity?
and more-
do you ever..
miss me?
im not even as lonely as my poems make me sound, its just something i always write about