And again, the affable resurgence. 


I am not used to love,

nor used to Love. It spills

out of my eyes in tears, yes,

but also I am found

amid the ruins of myself,

longing for more of Her,

of you. 


So here I reach back

to you, dear. 

I am sorry for my loss. 

I am not used to this,

am used only to indifference,

and when the Sun turns to face me,

I can only look away

until Night cuts me down,

and I remember you again. 



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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2020

BC, Canada