Its one of those 4 am nights where you wander around your house, just breathing, just being there with the darkness and your inky fingertips. Maybe pick up some dog-eared book of poetry, maybe stare out at a night of forgotten stars, where the martyred moon hangs limp in Orion’s arms.  Or sift through pixels, trying to find meaning behind a screen. You might remember when she was still there like a burning light cast beneath an alcohol sky.

Night decays snow into ash, a bitter blanket, a seeping sin.


Anything that lets you feel something again.