you, and other painful things

in the middle of the night, i see you


my imagination,

unfettered by daylight

conjures up visions

of your perfect imperfections


they reverberate in every whisper

that falls from my lips

when i tell the story of my past

with the pain omitted


the pain refuses omission,

however, and punishes

in that time after all sensible thoughts

have been thoroughly examined


when the demons inside

reveal their cannibalistic nature

making every breath from my lungs

images of you, formed

in the still air above me


you, carefully making your first cup of coffee for the morning

you, kissing that place behind my ear

you, pulling the comforter over your head and humming sleepily

you, telling the story of when your Dad died


you, saying you loved me

you, making me fall


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