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.