You're so dumb

You still dance in my room,

painting the walls with a cackle

you’ve disguised as a laugh—

shrinking every space you enter

by keeping us nose to nose.

The rush of unleaded excitement

over someone you saw just hours ago

still amazes me,

carrying the weight of unexplainable joy.

Constantly conjuring what’s next

can pull us from the present—

but who can blame us,

when having a future

feels like a blessing?

Sometimes I feel so lucky

I wish the feeling on others,

just so they could know

the uncontrollable way

you make me feel.

But now—

you don’t dance in my room anymore.

Damn, that can’t be right.

Your face is too clear,

and I just picked strands of dark hair

from my hoodie this morning.

Prayer is easier now—

but not in a way you’d enjoy.

There’s just so much more to ask for.

Silence is more peaceful than ever,

but only because

finding words is harder.

Talking out loud in hollow rooms

almost seems funny—

until the cackle I mentioned earlier

doesn’t follow.

I loved when you danced in my room,

even if you weren’t any good.

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