The last time we met,
I thought I hugged you tight enough.
Somehow it seems less now.
The stars suddenly dim,
the moon restless.
Hard to breathe, harder to pretend.
Pretense, because normal is non-existent
Pretense, because my happiness chose you over me.
I thought I kissed you enough.
That the world would implode if we kissed a little more.
I wouldn’t mind watching floating in the void space of darkness,
post the assumed explosion, for every night
my heart longs, aching in regret of not making the best of our time.
The last time we met, I did hold you tight.
Hoping to catch your scent, trying to memorize it and guard it with my memory.
That's all there is now, a mild scent.
Evidence, a reminder.
Of life before the pandemic.
Quarantine issues
