I can imagine,
thanks to a desperate heart and a creative mind,
that you are still here,
that you are not gone.
In my waking hours,
I dream that you will come back for me
any day now.
I will turn a corner,
I will open a door,
I will look up from the day’s work
and there you’ll be.
Beside me in all your glory,
the one man who would ever truly love me.
Your eyes open and full of life,
like in the pictures,
like the way I should always see you.
What a fool I was,
a fool I have always been,
for not seeing the truth.
For not snatching you up with greedy arms
when I had the chance.
At night, when I close my eyes and slow down my breath,
the world goes dark and sounds fade from my hearing.
Everything goes black and still.
I never dream, not that I can recall.
Not in the night.
No, for that is the time I am nearest you,
below the grass and the brown dirt.
I sink down to quiet, timeless repose
and am close enough to touch your hands once more.
Yet just as the final layer of my skin
is about to touch the outer layer of yours,
I am jerked back to the daylight,
the waking hours.
One day, it may be,
the light will not call me back.
The darkness will linger for all time
and I will finally feel your hand in mine.