My love,

I cannot. I cannot you. I cannot believe you exist. I wake up every morning and you’re gone and I say to myself, that’s right, this was all a sham, a fever dream. I don’t recognize this place without you. I don’t recognize this life. You’ve become so ingrained in it any deviation from it is unreal, a nightmare.

I cannot. I cannot you. I cannot believe you are here with me, years after years and it works, you make it work, no, that’s not right. You it easy. You make it effortless. And I know there is toil. And I know there is exhaustion. I know not every day is a basket of fruit or flowers or chocolates. But for you, you make it wonderful. You make it joyful. All the little things, all the gestures, all the faces, the nuances, the gait, the walk, the stumble, the sudden change in pitch, the tears of your laughter. I cannot imagine it. What stone were you cut from?

I cannot. I cannot

when i was young, i longed for the night, a desperate desire to be free and roam the streets, to walk through the shadows, a ghost fleeting through headlights

now i am older and i dread the night, i long for the day, to be embraced by the heartless sun, to feel its grace, its heat, to be seen before i disappear