the day ended
long before the clock admitted it.
I sit here now,
gathering my thoughts
like dirty laundry—
this stained journal,
this dim bulb’s piss-yellow light,
this bottle
that doesn’t judge
how many times
I pour it.
there are days
when no familiar face
breaks the monotony—
no voice that says
I know you
and means it.
oh, I’ve got people—
somewhere.
a sister in Phoenix,
a friend in Denver,
ghosts who used to laugh
at my jokes.
but distance turns love
into a rumor
you half-believe.
don’t mistake this
for self-pity.
I built this life
brick by brick—
some crooked,
some sturdy,
all mine.
but tonight,
I’m talking to you,
whoever you are,
reading this
in some dim room
of your own:
that ache in your chest
when the silence gets loud?
I know it.
that hollow feeling
when the phone stays dark?
I’ve swallowed it too.
we’re alone,
but we’re alone
together—
two strangers
passing in the dark,
nodding
I see you
without speaking.
so here’s my hand
on your shoulder,
here’s my voice
in your ear:
hello.
goodnight.
hold on.
the cosmic joke is this—
none of us
are really
as alone
as we feel.
BB Grey--musings 
Leave a reply to Isha Garg Cancel reply