When midnight collapses upon itself, I
often end up calling you, in my head, talking to
you about your day; and mine. Imagined blank calls
where I know that we are not really talking,
but are, at least, speaking.
I wish I could tell you, that today
was not a good day; that I
am angry at what happened, that
I am not amused by the rain which threatened
to pour, and did not arrive. I wish you were
there to understand why I
wanted to get drenched today; but lacked the
courage to stand under the shower, fully
dressed, just back from office.
I wish you would tell me
that you had a good day at work, that
all the dry proposals got the welcome snow
at Christmas deserved. That you would
listen to all the tales of woe and flash
your smile-yes, that one-
which made it all go away. I
wish you were around with your
twinkling eyes.
It is a bit drab, this place,
when I know that you are not there, but
colors rain when I imagine
you. It trudges on; time does; and reality is
broadcast from radio-stations; but how
should I stop wishing for you?
oh
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