I could spend my days
wrapped in the wind
- hair tossed in and out of my face

watching
fluffy white, grey, and black
clouds rolling across
deep blue skies.

I could waste hours
sitting on fine grains
of glass and particles
where one world meets
the next in a crashing
thunderous roll of waves.

I long to wallow my time
amongst the never moving,
always seeing,
towering beings,
of the forest.

My nights
are spent
seeking
the pale face
amongst the stars.

Seeing the world
how she does.

It’s been awhile.

I can’t remember why
I haven’t seen you.

There is something
different
about you.

Older.
Sadder.
Lonelier.

I watch you
in your sleep,
curled up on the couch.

I see your tears.

I hope they aren’t for me.

The desire to wipe
them away
weighs heavy on my heart.

Every time I reach out
I can’t seem
to
touch
you.

Before my eyes open,
you are there
at the end of my fingertips.
Soft and warm,
I want to pull you close.

Closer.

I open my eyes
searching for your face

that isn’t there.

It’s too late to close my eyes and
pretend you back into my arms.
The cold sheets have seeped into
the empty spaces.
Down into my bones.

For as long
as I can
remember.

When it
hurts.

When I am
hurting.

There is,
only one
response.

One reaction,
let it burn.

One light in a crowded room.
Highlighting papers
and one pen.

Blank papers.

The white glare brings out her eyes.
I reaching so deep
for the good words.

Sad eyes.

If I turn away my gaze,
I can write.
Words will flow through pen and ink.
I need this lie.

Shameful pride.

A crowded room
is now empty.
She has grown strong
and left me.

My muse.

My pillows are filled with memories of soft whispers.
That sound oh so sweet.
I hear laughter down the hall
                                                         beckoning
with the dance and flicker of golden

light.

I imagine
your hands gliding across limb and back,
                                         wooing me
with pleasures
                                                                 one could get lost in.

I would love to lay my head
                beside yours.
I’d hold on
               so tight
                                                            that I lose myself
                                                                                in you.
Yet there are things to be done,
                            promises
                                                                    I must
                                                                                                            keep.

My sister wonders why I don’t want to go shopping right after coming home from an eight-hour shift.

I’m spent.

My dad wonders why I’m passed out on the couch at four in the afternoon.

I’m                           tired.

My friends don’t wonder why I’m no longer the life of the party, but they still choose to see me.

I’m
                                 exhausted.

At 25 I have come to realize that it is not normal to stress about a mortgage or how to keep a house.
That at 25, coming up with property tax money is not normal.

That at 25 it is abnormal to be alone in your worry of losing the last physical reminder of your lost mother.