It is raining and dark.

The coffee does not warm the weary out of my bones.

I can feel the moon behind the clouds,

almost full, pulling me, tearing that great part of me that wants to belong.

You are asleep, and as always I am alone.

I want you to come home, but that was another time.

We are past that now.

Writer trapped in the daily grind of an IT Pro, parent to two boys. www.bydavepark.com & Buy me a coffee: ko-fi.com/davepark

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