It's January 2—2016 crept up on me somehow. I'm ready for it although I'm not sure what happened to 2015. The thought of the New Year and all of its festivities felt a bit surreal to me this time around.
You came down in late afternoon, bearing coffee and bags of sweets
That before your knock, I would have found unbearable
Edith Piaf played through the speakers like through a tin can
Predictable for a rainy day but because the first drop remained
We agreed: Perfection
In your face I saw the quietest of grief.
Soft and waiting.
But, also, joy.