Your absence thickens and I’ve turned to pictures as a reminder of what you look like.
Prayers are puzzles as I play between wanting you here and out of my mind because it stings me every bland day and empty night.
We know life is brief, circumstances change, chances are fumbled then longed for coated in regret, buttered fingers.
How can we have the exact person we want and say just a minute, I’ll be back, while wars increase around us and possibilities diminish?
Gamble. Risks. Even a silver platter, banners in the sky, signs, divine intervention, angels, and guidance can’t convince one to stay.
See? This is why confidence isn’t written by our names. You don’t belong to me. You belong to ever-moving dice. We flirt, hope, plan, in the sand at the shore.
A prototype of the one willing to love boldly. Example of the one willing to put herself first even in her caring for others knowing differences between selfishness dedication honor and decisions.
I am just a possibility out of many and only an injured fool begs for a companion in one looking away, comfortable elsewhere, scared to leap, because, but, what if, just stay.
Get out of my head. Yet I don’t want to disconnect. High tide will change this. High tide is almost upon us. Our connection will wash away. We will not start writing again.