I saw her in the window again
Nothing special about the window
The focus is on her

Old, grey, weary
Eyes like caves, holes with no end
Skin sags like old curtains

She stares out the window
Any window
Nothing special about the window

I almost went up to breath
My fog on the windowpane
Some ghosts are better left unspoken to.

Gray-faced eyes are burnt out
and our flames are gone so I
am resting my heart.
Frozen hearts grow colder
with every touch and like
icebergs we are drifting
apart.

on the forest floor
bark twigs and leaf matter lay
they'd soon be compost

Loneliness has the coldest hands
I've ever felt but it's alright because
dead bodies aren't warm either.
Dead bodies are cold but the
ever-lasting touch of loneliness is
incisively and annihilatingly colder.
You were the best teacher I had and
I have mastered to accept loneliness
arms around my waist like the leaves
have mastered their ephemeral
dance among the majestic wind.