I found the cigarette she left behind.
It was only a thought, but it meant so much.
Maybe this time she'd be back;
Maybe she'd remember that I loved her.
My thoughts are exhausted.
This wonderful hell has become my home.
I can't complain though; this is what I wanted yesterday.
I missed missing her. . . .
\Even my waitress began to resemble her,
My 57-year-old waitress. . . .
I found myself on a subway
I hate subways. . . .
She loves them, always has, and always will.
I loved the way she'd pout when the rain fell hard through the trees
It made my world seem so clear.
I remember she'd whisper to herself,
"Always is a word without an end."
It had never made any sense to me until I realized,
I'll always miss missing her.