Much time has passed since last I was more faithful; in such a span I have committed myself more to certain things and less than others. As was my intention to put the following piece up at a time when it was more relevant, over the proceeding month, so will I now list it as another note, in passing.
It's hard, you know-
coming back to this room
once you've been
and gone
leaving me to only traces
of your passing. Leaving
me, otherwise, alone.
Leaving you is an affair
where words can say
too much;
my lingering touch on your hand
says more than any word:
"I do not want to let you go."
But, like air,
you slip through my fingers
and I look back-
you are gone.
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