by James L. Carey
(Woke up with this in my head.)
Bittersweet it is.
The feeling of lost love.
Waking up in the morning having felt her fingers run over my head and beyond.
As the fog recedes so does her touch and what felt like a moment was years ago.
Always hard to see and even harder to recognize.
Do you miss the love you held in your hands because it was perfect and whole and pure or because it was yours?
Like you miss your lost toys from childhood, because they were yours to break and no one else’s.
Every day humanity curses the sky and the gods at what they have lost that was rightfully theirs.
Never do they see what in fact was theirs all along
and what is coming down the road,
so bent are their necks from gazing at the hole
where once was
what no one realized was found.