I wonder still
if you remember me as I was.

So obsessed with fixing
amending
undoing
setting things right.
Never content repeating the moments
already achieved
because to change them
even in the slightest
would collapse like tobacco embers
in a thriftstore coffee mug.

An attic hiding
entire generations
of days never not
filled with ghosts
hanging dusty over
your sleeping head.
Specific
incidental
pain over
and over and
over

Sometimes I think of those days
and hope the sun
still pops out
wherever you are.