It is Christmas.
There is nothing to do here but listen
To the birds, my thoughts,
Hot air through tall trees,
Your breath, heartbeat, the rise and fall of your chest.
I can feel you sometimes
In my gut.
Will this fear ever untangle?
Will I ever be free to love you as I did once,
Can I be awake and in love at the same time?
I can't say.For now I just have to feel the quiet pain.
A memory, like a dull knife.