Here

I sit in the dim light of the room that was.

Having grown accustomed to the scarce lighting,

My vision remains adequate

But unsatisfying.

The clock creeps to midnight,

Signaling The End to the day that was not.

Here is where the religion of contentment has no bearings.

Here is where I sit,

Drawn.

Floating on Contentment

Warmth from the August sun made its way to us;

Rays of you found their way to me.

Arms wrapped around my shoulders,

The boat moving the only way we had,

Forward.

Close, nestled between us,

The contentment we’d been searching for.

It appeared like one of the jumping fish from the lake,

Briefly, fully, as plain as sunlight if you look.

You don’t know what I’m noticing,

But tell me if you see it, too.