where are you now, love?
I need to feel you here.
letters each week
uncertain you're safe,
please say so.
don't tell me the terror
that haunts your every day.
invent sunshine for me.
you'll be back soon, right?
no worries..

do you remember?
upon quiet return,
don't treat me like the past;
let's find a way
into the lukewarm unknown.
the future is daunting
but it's okay, right?
no worries..

don't you feel it?
a worn out passion clings
to fabric stretched thin over two cold years.
my cautious hand
your hardened affect
I swear you were ticklish..
a dull, prodding regret
exhausting, heavy
it will get better..
you'll be okay soon, right?

right?
..

My imagination places me on the precipice of a giant void, the wind against my back. I could just turn around..
But I know the truth. I'm already at bottom. I search for the slightest sign of a transient light.. anything that would give me a reason to move. Anything. To make a change. Please?
But there is nothing.
There's nothing left of me. I'm gone. Lost.
The steps I take are mechanical and dull. A last feeble attempt at prolonging the facade that I'm still here.
This is my fault.
To think I used to be so driven. So awake.
I don't sleep anymore.
As much as I want to blame you,
or the wine glasses my lips have such affinity for,
or your haunting indecision..
But what's the point anyway?
I curl up on my floor, a heap of mud.
An inaudible sigh escapes my lips. A catch in my breath.
My attempt to choose which flavor of Kraft would carry my body today has failed. I'm out of time.
I'm late.
I'm always late.
Maybe I won't even go.
I hate it anyway.
But I can't change it.
I am powerless.
I tilt my head towards the shelf. I can't lift it. I can't force myself to lift it.  
Hair falls over my face. Why am I so weak?
It's all my fault.  
Was I ever enough?
I can't even hate you in the ways I wish I could.
Even hatred would propel me to stand.
But it won't, and I won't.
It's too late.
I'm always late.
Maybe I won't even go.