Bright
It is raining outside
and, truth be told, I miss you.
It's not something I say out loud.
But this one time I can write it
and let myself admit it.
I miss the feel of your palm
resting against my cheek.
I can barely remember
the feel of you beside me.
Perhaps there is mercy in that.
I don't love you anymore,
but I also don't not love you anymore.
Everything contradicts itself,
but your eyes are clear and bright
like the light above my doorway.
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