I find myself wondering,
now, more than ever,
where it went.
Or when it went.
Or anything about it
in general.
As I glance out
of my window,
a wisp of scarlet red
and squash-shaded orange
is caught
by the dying, sprawling vines
claiming my windowsill,
I understand,
now, more than ever.
How easy it seems
to just let go,
to drop a leaf,
a thought,
anything.
Now, more than ever.
I miss myself.