On Monday,
I waited for you
to come back from the bathroom.

Most days,
I feel like telling the stars
they are ugly,
Laughing heartily in
the eye of a storm,
and
watering the rivers
of the world
until they, too,
understand drowning.

Be with me now,
be still.
Most days,
I still can't stand the sound
of the doorbell ringing.
I know you won't be calling.
I don't even feel like me.

And this is how I miss you.