When I am down,
My thoughts are a ball of tar,
Dark, sticky and difficult,
The tar rolls, and gathers stones,
And the thoughts get darker, and the simplest things become more difficult.
In a gradual bloom, I have reawakened,
I no longer live in the dark quiet terror.
The exhaustion of the prison of my mind.
Tonight I celebrate with quiet abandon.
The night is turning cooler, and I must prepare.
After oh so many months, you are coming home.
And I want everything to be perfect.
I want just that quiet kiss goodnight, and to feel you beside me.
I know for you, passage into fall is a death knell, grieving the death of summer.
But to me, you are coming home.
After being gone for so very long, you are coming home.