Now it’s 1 am, my head aches, and the dog only sleeps on the
bed that is empty.
What are we even doing. Closing doors. Leaving them open.
Does it matter? Does anyone mark down our successes?
The earth moves. I run out into the wet grass, spin with my
face to the sky, but I can’t find the moon anywhere.
It’s a new moon. So small you can’t see it yet.
But why didn’t it listen
to me?
This twinge—I assume it means God is protecting me.
From reality, from life.
It’s me that I’m running away from.
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