Every few weeks, the lonely starts eating me from inside
So I open the pictures
Attempt to memorize the planes and rounded angles of faces
The worry and sorrow that line their eyes
And the joy of finding someone who knows.

It works, all right.

I will dream of them – vivid dreams,
Involving unbirthday parties and skiing accidents
And mostly her but occasionally the others.

I had the world at my fingertips
And I never let it slip away.

It tugged itself from my clenched hands
And wriggled off the moment I walked through the
Departures gate.

They stare back at me, after long enough.
Wonder why I left them, when I’ll be back.

I can’t answer them.

Not because I don’t know the answers,
Because I do,
But because I want to hope
Which is never quite possible in reality.