maybe there are the unloveable who spend their moments wishing for tenderness.

i keep remembering the thoughts of me, wishing for future.

instead of loving and wishing for this.

i am homesick for the tangling.

promises

the sounds lull and twist

and here is the part where the drifting souls

collide haphazardly with the smatterings of hope

the cries in the night and the small, quiet sobs

of those abandoned by the broken hearts.

they never wanted to alarm you with their 

slow sadnesses, but they envelop you without

permission or apology

citing the loveliness of your words and the

bold claims you made in your naivety.

at the funeral of wisdom and choice

you sang a eulogy of forgiveness and 

hope; without consideration of consequence.

you became the advocate of the invisible

but would not stop to wonder if you could deliver.