Every night, striking midnight, I’m wrestling with denial that there is a burning desire to just have one more conversation with you.
Dammit, I want more conversations with you —
To tell you I regret everything
all the despicable things I did that came from a place of desperate self-preservation
To tell you that despite the pain that wreaked havoc on my heart,
there’s a room in it with your name carved on it
To tell you that I have infinite tenderness and gentle kindness to you,
a stranger who may no longer know the letters of my name
To tell you that I admittedly miss you, beyond time, reciprocity, and rationality
To tell you that if you need me,
knees bruised I will come running,
without hesitation and second thoughts
(to lock you in a comforting embrace)
Every night, striking midnight, I get to dream about your voice,
even if the words out of it is no longer (or never was) for me.
