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.