can’t hardly remember
what the inside of a bedroom
is supposed to look like anymore 
or feel like

can’t imagine numbing
myself to deep yearning
if only for a night

can’t even properly picture myself
naked

been lucid dreaming more
after a perspicacious mind
caught on to a cruel pattern
of only finding love
in REM sleep

spending all day
thinking about
someone who doesn’t exist

looking at a girl a little too long because
she reminds me
of that someone
to the point of forgetting
not to stare 

then choosing not to try
saying hello

not wanting to get involved
in anything with anyone
for the potential of pain
drama

fuck off if you think it’s thinking too much

looking for other
best parts of the day

drinks with friends
movies and games
dearly cherished
even if none of it
completely nullifies
all this hurt

not allowing
such romantic dissatisfaction 
to be so closely tied
with identity

let’s fly in lucid dreams instead

almost free
from any kind of desire
if not for living in fear
of my mailbox

the reply
to a letter 
sent a month ago

one who could have changed everything
one who could still change everything

but if not her
nobody is okay

there’s a wealth
of other people to care about
they will carry the seasons over

from mutual greetings with tomorrow
to warm goodnights with perfect contentment

peace in loneliness