December

10:58 pm

I am shaking the comforter into the duvet cover 

and it hits me like a thunderstorm in summer

the finality of it all, the suddenness 

and I think how you would hate this, remembering when you slept with only a comforter for months

the mundanity of it is the truest form of intimacy I have ever known 

but it is December and the ends of things are rushing forward 

the clattering of a subway pulling up to its next stop 

because the city makes me think of you and doing laundry makes me think of you and

nothing at all makes me think of you 

maybe you like sleeping under a duvet cover now more than you despise making your bed 

you are different and I know that, but in what ways, I do not know

I remind myself we are in different worlds, different hemispheres and seasons of life 

but you still exist in my world 

oh how it drains me to have you slip into a fractal of light, inaudible and mute

you are more real than ever but it feels emptier now

I, untethered, a ghost

catching just enough glimpses of something I will never know enough of 

a figment of something past