They say they're glad I'm here
this is where I belong.
But I'm a ghost in this place.
They don't hear me talk or walk or breathe.
They forget I exist when I'm in the room.

Maybe this is my house and not theirs.
Maybe that's the truth.
Home isn't never going anywhere else—
it's coming back for your rest.
But I'm a ghost in this place.

I never left — I'm not

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I’ve encountered a shadow of you

It was cold to the touch and it cut me right through

I’ve even seen a glimmer or 2

Of the magic you leave behind like dew

But I’ve never kissed you, I’ve never hugged you, I’ve never made a pot of coffee for you

Are you hiding, will you find me?

Should I stay put and find shelter til your rescue

Do I deserve you?

for the fi

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I love these geese. They make my chest tight and full and help me believe that things will be alright again, that I will pass through this time as I have passed through other times, that the vast and threatening blank ahead of me is a mere specter, that life is lighter and more playful than I am giving it credit for. But right on the heels of that

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