Poetry

Lint (poem)

Playing with the lint on my sheets waiting for them in their off-color to form a pattern under my fingers but I’m continually disappointed

It holds no truths for me but at least I have it to keep me company in my empty bed

Bored with the lint, my fingers move on to rummage through yellow cotton but it too is silent holding nothing but sweat and the salt of my tears

I realize the only secrets I will find here are the ones in my dreams and the ones you left here the last time you laid next to me

They mock me as I picture the curve of your spine and remember my arm draped around you contentedly planning our future while you planned your escape as we drifted off to sleep

Now, all that you harbored and left behind in my sanctuary is my burden, my cross to carry as I dwell upon the only truth I want, the one unanswered question

Where are you?

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