patience & punishment

i'm silently sitting on top of a bare nightstand, sterile from the absence of any decorative personality. slightly hunched while propping myself up with my elbows at my knees, i make an honest attempt to see her future.

optimism in the guise of a fever dream.

somewhere within those undulating chest compressions there lies a beacon that shines brightly and radiates an outward warmth that brushes against my cheek. i turn my head and catch its warm embrace and let out a shallow sigh, an asymmetric amalgamation of lament and loss.

a thoughtful and sentimental touch can fix what sutures cannot.

aimless anticipation with an omen as an outcome, we stand our ground and refuse to raise the white flag. i close my eyes and we are now copies made from the same broken template. there is no logic or laymen's terms that can explain what has been wrought.

inhale, exhale, these rhythms marring my memory.