Writing, I visit an old journal for a kernel from yester days.

And there you are. A drawing I made of a sleeping you. An undeniable beauty. I remember hastening to draw you before the morning touched you in just the right way to wake you. There. Amongst some writing I’m revisiting. Is there not a place inside me you are not? Somehow always with me. And yet. This reminder of your absence brings all the water up.