The antithesis of my love makes their introduction,
and their identity is not the hate I would expect.
They and I sit down together
after they shuffled in.
We hold cold hands across a table,
and stare detached at an unopened bag of goldfish,
as understanding grows in the stretching silence.
In accepting love and offering my own,
I gave this part in hopeful vulnerably,
trusting to another’s care.
Abandoned now,
they return to me,
with defeat in each step,
and fear in each breath,
confused
at the returning they never planned.
I tend their wounds clumsily as
they offer me animalistic moans of longing,
homesick,
for the place now burnt down.
In their wide eyes I see flashes of the ashes
coating the wreckage
of the place they belong.
We are simultaneous strangers and friends
in our reacquaintance.
I have no words of comfort
and offer up a moan of my own,
as Lost and I become one again.
