This is the day that got away. This is the room with the lights left off. Eyes open to these unsettled nothings, tiny sparks, fitful kisses. The dreams that drag on and on, in waking leaving only their absence. Ciphers written by spiders, shadows skittering across the ceiling. Come see, the stone turned over. Come see, the seal has broke. Rented rooms and open windows. Sleepless from listening for the footsteps up the stairs. Ready for the ending every time there’s another door.
This is the stranger there as you turn around. The mistake the moment I think I know. At the saying of your name, the tapping of your shoulder, wherever you go there you are. The ill crossed road, the silent star. It’s not you, it’s your proximity. It’s not you, it’s your facsimile. The curtains stir, altering the light. Something about a sky like so, something with a catchy tune. You awake from the dream again unwanted. The sound of a doorknob tested in the dark. Listening for the alarm.
We know it’s there though we don’t see it coming. We keep going though we know it’s overdue. The bolt from the blue, the start from above, death from on high with the lowdown. The pause before the other shoe dropping, the stretch of wasted breath. Waiting to reveal the wrong as yet unknown, the failing that finds us everyday. The moon won’t come until the morning. Awake in a restless bed, weary of this droning on.
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