you are quietly resting
in the back of my mind
I forget you're there
until I'm alone at night

you are the empty sounds.
the white noise background,
sometimes that silence is deafeningly loud
you are the hum in my brain.
the noise you can't place,
gentle and strange both sound like rain
you are the tuning in.
the forgetful mind full of gin,
realizations and moments of second guessing
you are the selective.
the choosing to take or give,
hearing your breath in memories I relive

I'm no good at this
Feeling is a peculiar thing
It's so confusing
I don't like it