The gray
clouds my eyes
and your letters
tumble to the floor,
my fingers
to clutch
what I keep losing.
Melancholy midnights
collapse on
sad Saturdays
and cold coffee,
and these misty memories
sink in the mud
around those trees
we planted with our dreams.
I am sorrow
tied with brown string,
and you carry
pockets full of words
you don’t know exist.
My wishes for you
don’t add up
to enough stars
to light up the dark,
and sometimes
I’m buried
in permanent images
of echoes,
and they bounce
and break
just like my heart.
But I still wish
and hope
these pieces
can find their way home
and back to your arms
so the sad disappears
and I can forget
what it’s like
to miss you.



8 thoughts on “Melancholy

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