The lightest rap pummels my door
You and your shadow rush into my sanctuary with a million pounds of sunshine
We sing, we read, we live
I missed your shy knocking those long 9 weeks
Here, the recent beautiful terrible of memories appear vague.
When even the certainty of life had become a fickle thought.
The dampness of it’s mildew has aired out in our souls now. We are here.
A scrap of paper and pencil is too little to love you with
But for our moments together, it suffices.
As you scribble meaningful gibberish I surrender to reality: this life is not our own.