Are You Lonely?
To me,
we are both lonely.
I sit comfortably with
silence.
Let it braid itself into
my days.
You—
surrounded, unknown.
There are fingertips
on your mornings.
Half names.
You take trace of them,
and press it under
your tongue.
I do not ask
who keeps your hands
full or who you ache for
when the night forgets
your name.
But I know you are not
alone.
Taking pieces of others,
arranging them quietly
to feel whole.
Let’s not pretend—
you are just as lonely
as me.
