Photo by Mark kassinos on Unsplash
I find myself turning to say funny things to someone who isn't there.
Words that trail into whispers
empty
air.
Oh, the small hours crushing me with quiet.
Empty arms, empty moments. So far 121 nights.
Over and over and over.
Quietly cutting meals in silence and
a movie just for me.
So many lessons, why didn't I learn?
When you realize your life is just unread mail
Empty bottles, staying in, avoiding bail.
The reasons are Golden Gate large.
There will be fog tomorrow, maybe rain and surely sorrow.
It will hurt less.
I guess.
I kind of don't hope so.
About the Creator
Mark R. Cieslak
Trying to tell some of the silly stories that crowd my head. Maybe you like one. If not its still cheaper than therapy.
Keep reading
More stories from Mark R. Cieslak and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments (1)
Golden Gate large - such a great line!