Another big empty on the receiver.
Just a dull throb after a click.
I heard somewhere that there was a reason I was doing all this.
I heard somewhere that I had to.
But now...
Now I'm not so sure.
Now I'm not so sure.
There's no hand to hold this time.
No calm soothing whisper in my ear.
And strangest of all...for perhaps the first time-
I actually need it.
Why was I doing this to myself again?
Wasn't there a reason?
It all gets so foggy here.
Misty with hopeless harried busywork.
To put food on the table.
To put coins in the machine.
To deliver a pair of cramped feet next to mine when I crawl under the covers.
Good morning-
-Good night.
I love you-
-I missed you.
And it all
marches,
waltzes,
thunders,
on.
Sound of a click.
Followed by an always desperate if not breathless goodbye.
Goodbye goodbye
always goodbye
never I'm home.
Why?
There should always be two per day.
Then this...
all this...
would make sense again.
Purpose
would be in sight.
Rather than in sound.
Goals and promises would be substance.
Manifest.
On the tips of my fingers if I needed them for reassurance.
But now...
everything is toil and tedium.
With only promises to keep us going.
They say-
or rather, I say
that everything worth doing
is worth doing the hard way.
That of course is true
most especially
in the case
of love.
Wouldn't you agree?
Good night miss.
Good morning good night.
Whatever whenever.
Let's do our damndest
to maintain that promise
of a rendevous?
A tryst?
An affair?
A plot?
An engagement?
That was the one.
Good night.
Promise me a good morning,
and I'll promise you a good night.
One starting
one ending
always
with
Love.
Only.