When you’re no longer silly enough to be with the “in crowd”, you just disappear.
Sometimes it hurts, remembering…
the old self in the mirror, and the shadows of age popping up like freckles.
I miss you. I miss it… miss us, but I realize
I’m never the person I am today when I’m with you.
I am dully shining over your shoulder,
questioning my intentions, and yours of mine.
How many slow waltzes will we dance until we just embrace another partner
that enjoys our step,
and leads with grace
with full swings inward and outward
of the heart?
I’m tired of aching,
but I can’t stand blind of the ashes that have fallen,
the timber of broken friendship,
or small betrayal
or the recourse of new life.
I dream to feel whole, but insecurity never lets me stand beside you
because I never know where you will go next;
sometimes with me,
sometimes concealed in the arms of so many more
than I can even foster.
Sometimes being home means being alone.
Jessica M. Wilson 2/28/16