Almost too comfortable when I am alone. Feeling memories I wish atoned. I don’t remember the last one I condoned, likely one I no longer hold. How is it I can see you everywhere and you’re nowhere even near. How come I’m able to see blindness and it’s clear. I know you’re here, I know you’re there, I want you, but I fear. In sense it’s not logical, in fantasy it’s proverbial prodigal. Mere steps from our once abode, now destroyed, removed, eternally of the soil below.
I feel as though, maybe I’ve grown, it’s more like returned to what I’ve known, you are my home. I want to deny it, I want to believe it, I want you to want us alone. Again that question snaps through my synapse, “How can I still feel this way after so much time has passed?” the only question I’ve since asked. I vehemently chastise the notion never up to the task, afraid of revisiting the abyss of nostalgia of the days we shared bliss. Now, I barely miss. And you? What do you retain of this? I want to say a negative remark so follow the rules of conditioned remiss, but I won’t. I’m prompt to say, it just is what it is, ironically living in a filled empty wish.