In the vacant moments
Those that stagger between you and me
I pause and look at life..
What do I remember of life before your words folded me into their enclosed self. Before they soothed the edgy seams of my distort life.
What was a morning sun like before it was soaked in your warm smile
What was it like to wake to nothingness or the feeling of unableness-
Like the traveler feels when he reaches the inn and finds the owner has gone to the woods to chop some trees and his wait is long or unaccounted for while his tired self aches for food and sleep…