IT’S SUNDAY

Lonely darkness
creeps inside
my
thoughts
about memories
about us
(still) together.

My hand reached out
for
all that is
right
to write
to you,
but I forbid myself
to do so
more times a day
than
breathing.

I needed you
more
than my naive soul
could admit
and spoke about it
less
than my heart
could allow me.

I miss
being an angel.

– Chatty Owl –