It’s the middle of the morning and we are alone. I am alone with you. I say I am alone with you because I am, because you are not here, not really. Sitting in my room you’re sitting in an ocean made up of words that are black and blue and sorry. We have done this to ourselves, you have done this to us, over years of unfulfilled promises. And I still come back here, weekly, monthly, yearly, to get myself a little bit more of what could have been a little bit more of the maybe. The light comes in and I still love your face, the way your body moved in the daylight. There is something to be said about wisdom, and there is far more to be said about the wise. I wonder what the wise men would say, about people like us, who keep jumping into pain.