The windows fogged, but my breath
cannot blow hard enough
to finger draw the shape of my heart.
I got carried away at the grocery store. I finally realized there are no differences between Macintosh or Fuji apples and
the sprinkler mist does not drip so delicately off of spinach anymore.
I took a walk at night to regain some clarity, but the blurred streetlights in the distance
did not make me feel nostalgic.
I howled at the moon,
No response.
I’m scared of the distorted image within a puddle, what if the warped reflection
starts to look more clearer than ever before?