I’m here doing something

I’m here doing nothing
in the hush of five to three,
resisting the pull of sleep,
because awake I feel I don’t lose you…
but there are heavy rises and falls for a night owl,
those comings and goings that finally
give you over
to sleep…
and sometimes,
there,
who would have thought it?
I’ve been able to find you.

A few weeks ago I discovered I dream several dreams at once;
I managed to stay anchored in the midpoint of the dense night,
and I can even mistake it for a photograph.
You and I used to sit on the frame, remember?
It felt genuine… like home.

I did my toenails myself before coming here.
When I stepped out of myself and took a look at us,
it all seemed theatrical—but even more so the echo of the conversations we had.

Why did my greatest good have to disappear?

It feels as though I left my shadow
hanging on the mirror of my room...

Yes, I notice the hollow in my neck when I brush my teeth in the mornings. Your butterflies could sleep there, you know?
No, I’m not ageing—it’s the workouts I do every day…
Again… you know?
They’re to forget you.

But look…
I don’t know what I’m doing
in these three to three
minutes… _{magical hours}, you in my head,

_{_{_{_{always the echo of knowing you’re mine in eternity…}}}}

... perhaps, after all, I find myself here… doing something.

It’s my way of adoring you, of offering you…
presence—simple—without half‑measures.

I don’t care what you do or say;

I know what you feel… I feel you.

I understand that everything comes and goes...

When I think of you
it’s like tipping myself over into myself…

And I’m almost dragging myself to bed.
Please... Take my hand.