i remember him in the leftovers,
the scraps of light he forgot to take
i remember him in yesterdays,
in the songs he inspired and in
dresses i wore once
to make his head turn.
and when i find him,
i am in the broken nights,
and he is in the half-awake dreamings
of my thunderous heart
and when he finds me,
there are fragments of truth in our make-believe,
threads of real desire for what could have been.
but those don’t last.
