Brown Bird XLIX

There’s still space here that you occupy. Occasionally the universe gives me no other choice. The fog of war clears, the wind dies down, and people fade temporarily. I’ll feel you sitting next to me. Maybe it’s the combined toll of every storm we weathered. I can still smell you sleeping next to me, still feel your heart beating against my forearm. For just a moment I allow myself a moment of peace, before I wrestle with the pain of reality. My heart breaks all over again. This friction never fades, and I do—I really do—work with it, not against it. Still you linger here in this void when you should be wandering endless fields of wildflowers. There is nothing else I can offer you other than these small moments.