maybe if the world willed it. maybe if i was a different person. maybe if good things stayed. but instead new york in a rearview mirror. instead no eyes to follow me across the room. no hands to hold my darkness. the hallways are empty. the bedrooms are so lonely, they ask for haunting, but there’s no turning back. not even a ghost would want this. i miss the days before the year that changed me. when i could fall asleep on a couch and not think about how i’d make it to my bed but somehow arms would find me and carry me safely and i’d wake up to soft light and my dreams weren’t the type to betray me yet. these are the moments i mourn. these are the stories the trees tell the birds. this is how winter happens again and again. i used to know hope like a poem, but now all i know is the way it fades.