In a lonely room in a little city,

He was a magnet

A regret

A panicked scramble

Like all magnets, he responded.

In a little room in big city,

He was a thorn

A reminder

An unwelcome ghost

His invitation returned,

Peeked at, but not absorbed

His ache easily ignored

Replaced by a dozen white flowers

A blocked witness to his grief,

I am unable to mend the tear that sits

Beneath the breastbone,

A little to the left

The lump in my throat mimics his.

Heartstrings in my lap, idle needles in hand

The reopened wound, pulsing

Each day is one more away from

Her laugh.

Her eyes.

Her plans.

In a shared room in a familiar city,

I wait with him.

Nothing comes.