I'm not sad anymore
But far from the opposite
No...
there is a different feel to it
Not the fit of an old baseball mitt
but the void when my hand isn't there
It just isn't there
And if life were a game I'd be waiting in the bull pen
warming up the pitchers
Or were it a tree
I'd be the one
lone
leaf in late autumn
somehow clinging to a twig
cut off from the life giving nutrients
It's not about the home runs
The spring bloom
The enlightened old shrub high on
a wise old hillside
It's not about making sense
Knowing what I want
Meeting someone
Buying flowers
Embracing love
or rejecting it
It must be more external
not from me but for me
from without
This is my Valentine's day requisition:
I'd just like to be liked
on a day for being liked
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