prayer two

I ask naught but to be remembered softly;
A dim imprint in the covers of a fitful nights sleep,
Left to air in a space of time too busy to bothered with
The niceties of bed-making.

I don’t always plan on leaving; most days are just days:
A sunrise and a sunset with some time in between them.
But some things remind you,
Some messes won’t be smoothed away
(Or let you tuck the corners in to make it all better).
Some things aren’t tidy,
And they remind you that you’re going.

But please: remember me not as stupid, or vain,
But rather lost;
As lying here, staring at a cracked white ceiling,
And wondering if Soon is now, if Gone is really gone.