I was fine.
Emotionally dead, but fine with it
I had grown fond of my solitude
Then you came back
And I was sure my resolve was intact
But I am not as tough
As I like to believe.
Obviously.
Because now
Now that you are gone
I am alive in this dying
I feel the pain of the separation
I sleep facing the back of the couch because
I can almost make myself believe
After enough Pinot
That I am not going to sleep alone
Which was fine just a month ago
But now it's not
And I am not
Fine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem