Witching hour, or close

copyright 2011

I was in the kitchen at 2 am.

A time when the world is asleep and the silence is soothing.

I can think at this time.

Sometimes, too much.

I filled my cup with coffee and stared into a sink that overflowed with dishes,
wondering if my motivation was lodged in the drain with tonight’s stir fry.

I reached for a spoon, and I thought of you.

Maybe, I didn’t think of you, but the image of your face appeared in my mind.

I was thinking about miserable people, that was the thought that led me here.

I was missing the first time you let down your guard and just laughed at something ridiculous.

I don’t even remember what was so funny.

We had moments like that.

I remembered the way your smile spread into one of those wide smiles that can’t be restrained

your nose sort of bunched up and your face turned red.

I don’t think you even realized it.

But, I did.

It was like when we were young
and you leaned into me,
and me into the wall,
as we fumbled in teen-aged awkwardness.

And you grinned.

That grin is your soul.

That grin spoke to my soul.

It was good to see you smile that way.
It was good to have that moment with you when we forgot where we were,
confined in a room of brick walls and unspoken pain.

It is bittersweet that at 2 am,
I am thinking about you
and your soul
and your smile
and the way the walls still feel confining
and the pain is speaking loudly now.

EyeWords 2017

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