Today I felt.
A smooth,
A loneliness of sorts.
And I ask of the Unknown:
Is it you?
And I hope you miss me.



The smallest oversight on your part;
Your named illuminated before me
– only briefly –
Then gone.

An exasperated wheeze
of that determined muscle
deep in my chest.

Silly me thought I’d forgotten
how to miss you.



You were a sunny day with a cloudless sky;
An afternoon spent in the shade of an old oak;
The feeling of cool grass underfoot.

You were the tension in the air;
A storm that refused to break;
Dark and heavy and inevitable.

You were one raindrop at first.
Then two.
Then ten thousand.

You were a home without walls.
You were a home.
You were my home.


I wanted to write for you again.
I wanted to once more plea with a vast audience of inconsequential souls,
in the vain hope that you might be reading.
I wanted to again endeavour to explain
how I tore apart my world
laying waste to all that mattered
and came around too late.
I wanted to offer you lies.
I’m better.
I’m stable.
I’m different.

This was a bad idea.
But it stopped me crawling to your doorstep.