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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