It doesn’t hurt
most days
I’m too busy
to want anything
anyway

Here you are
the same
but different
older
we all are

I thought it was
an illusion
my existence in
a one woman play

but you’re blury
which makes
everything
crystal clear

Is it real?
Is it ever?

You are here
and there and
everywhere
and
I’m a coward
because you are
only there

It is not my place
It is never my place

Your hand is warm
in hers

Is it time for mittens?

It really doesn’t hurt.