My words feel
bloated again
and Regina Spektor
is on the TV singing
about love and heartbreak
better than I ever could
and I have no piano
accompaniment
to make this hurt
seem somehow romantic
and somehow beautiful
instead of the
ugly rasping
that has rubbed my
thoughts raw
with memories
of lost times
and fantasies
of reconnecting
and it hurts
extra to realize
that of all these
people
these best friends
and loved ones
lost to time and circumstance
I realize that
there's not
a **** thing
that I want to talk
to them about
and if we're being honest
here
because poets are always
honest
I miss the idea
of these people
but not the people
themselves.