I'm worried that I'm losing it.
and I don't know what "it"
is, exactly.
but I can feel it leaving.

my face has been numb 
this week,
but this time,
not from weeping.

I used to write passionately
about love that leaves
and fills my space with empty,
about being comfortable 
in my lonely,
about the chaos
in longing.

but if you beg the sky
hard enough
for long enough,
she will listen.