"I am, I am, I am."
  her words rest on the page
she wrote this at peaks of hopefulness,
     when courage wrapped around her
neck instead of a rope.

but for me the words keep beating
     through me, endlessly, with my heartbeat
            but I am not hopeful,
       nor being held by courage.

           What am I?
I am ... alone
     I am ... empty
            I am ... missing him

how cliche of me to say.


I think of him,
    I can't help it.
his scent washing over me,
     drowning in his cologne,
choking me.

    "I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart,
                           I am,
                                     I am,
                                               I am."