My days are not exceptional
I get up, I eat, I breathe
And I go back to sleep.

I am simple.
I'm colored in gray.

She is the sun,
A brilliant, bright yellow.
Her face has color.
In her eyes,
There is light.
She is young.

But I
Am not.
We share our years
In number alone.

Because my bones
Are heavy with time.

She is the moon.
She pulls,
And I will follow
As she commands.

Burning brightly as fire,
I am ensnared
By her haughty gaze.
I will share with her the beauty
Of the world around us.

Once she emerges
From her personal bubble,
From her small
World of self.

With age comes patience.
I can wait.

Golden hour turns to dusk
And thoughts of you begin to pile up
I think about your lips and your hands
and the way you used to say my name
I came to try and clear my mind
to look at tall, golden grass and the winter sea
listen to the wind and the gulls cry
I think about your eyes and your shoulders
and the way your fingers felt running through my hair
I came to try and erase your name from my heart
But all I can think about is you
and your laugh and the smell of paint
and the way the sand felt beneath our feet

You’re licking your lips
And you’re loosening your collar
And I’m trying not to feel like the world is ending

He won’t get another chance this time.
I’ll mourn.
Let him haunt me in fragments of memories.
A ghost. A whisper on the wind.
I need to burn sage. Perform an exorcism. Expel him and his voice and his smile, from my mind and my heart.