Exhale

We were too tired to make art.

To live today was art.

Too exhausted, so we made do.

Collapsed in different rooms of your apartment.

Lying on your couch

I thought I felt the delicate arms of a phantom lover holding me from behind.

Was just air.

I could not bring myself to get up and go look for her.

Wandering into the night to find her felt taxing,

Like it would steal the energy it takes to lie down and sleep.

And I would be up all night.

Again.

Maybe it was just a future moment

A future frame that got shuffled into the current.

Coming to remind me

There's more than this.

Goodnight.