Five months and eighteen nights have passed,
with an aching in my chest for your laugh.
Eight thousand miles later,
it feels like I'm still searching for that sound.
A reason for you to want to stick around.
One that isn't dressing my failings.
One look,
I'm reduced to a visceral burn to resuscitate hope.
Au Revoir Ambitions!
That rose in my lungs and died in my throat.
Blubbering tears hushing,
Eulogies I penned before you've croaked
and elegies for my house of straw
that rotted before it went up in smoke.
Oh but,
there's a hammock where I now live,
in the nugatory purgatory of everlasting guilt,
the only pit stop between fight and flight,
Thirty years and three months, I finally decide -
the first ride that arrives, whatever the fate.
Who knew that buses were always late.
~~~
