I'm curled up under my window,
with nothing but a memory.
I tell it my secrets and what it means to me,
but I know, I'm only holding hands with a ghost;
a cold energy, creating a Hell for me.
And I start to wonder, if these thoughts, these
lonely, angry, deliriously happy thoughts,
that keep me awake at night
even belong to me.
And then I wonder if it was all worth it,
I wonder if the ghost remembers me,
But I know it does, it begins
reaching into the past,
looking for the missing pieces,
but they are out of sight,
so then the ghost is gone.
leaving me, with
a warm smile, and one happy thought at most
and so reality and my sanity become drunk,
and I make a toast,
to those thoughts, and these days, where
I'm curled up, alone,
under my window.
