A stranger stopped by,
Asked how things were going
Simply put, the sun seems just as golden
The road glides easy as we drive into the next day,
The ocean breeze's just as sweet as the smiles on our face
There are no wounds, no tears
And yet, my world has shifted a few degrees
For it is the small scratch that forever bleeds
That pulls at one's existence like weeds
It's the ghost that lingers in the peripherals
It's the gasp, before the light switch is flicked on
With the lamp that swings alone, above what is truly gone
It's the wave of laughter that lacks its fourth part harmony
And it's the forgotten Christmas dinner seat.