Plant in the darkness

For Maya, again.

We were something so good and so true.
It hurts my heart to even touch it.
My new room reminds me of your room.
These poems remind me of who I used to be.

I look at your paintings and ache.
I ache for the least word of yours. Give me something new to fixate on.
I read the letters you sent me again.
For the hundredth time, again.

I look at your paintings.
I wonder how many of them were made with my paint.

I say so many things to avoid saying that I miss you.

Leave a Comment