five a.m.
it's
the middle of the night
and
i'm staring at my ceiling
subtracting
the years and adding it all up.
and
i'm cursing myself
because
i've found out what i'm missing
and
how much i'm missing it right now.
it's
the middle of the night
and
you're there and not here and
there's
something so wrong in that—
because
in the dark it feels so alone
when
you wake up from a fantasy
and
your only comfort is a fish.
and
i didn't know how to tell you before,
but
i'm telling you now
what
i think i've always known.
i
love you,
because
of everything you have been to me—
brother
and best friend.
but
i hate you,
because
of everything you are not
and
because you don't know how much i need you right now.
and
now it's
five
a.m. on a monday morning
and
liquid promises are staining my paper.
-
9.26.05.