I sit atop the oak ledge,
And disengage,
Watching with apathetic, glazed over eyes.
The hills seem to sway under my never ending stare,
And I hold them vicariously under my grasp,
I must've I birthed a fear that those hills would run away from me.
And nothing seems to be real,
The wind is soft and gentle but lacks in legitimacy,
A casual reminder to me that I hold such small increments of space in this substantial existence,
Maybe it was the chaos you left behind,
It felt like you left it there so you would learn to miss it,
You said green is your favorite color,
I should have asked you why.
And today I finally prayed,
For once eating my ego bite by bite,
Accepting that I can live without my answer,
But knowing would have felt so much better,
And maybe knowing would have made letting it go so much easier.