Nobody loses herself all
at once.
It's stealthy.
It spreads itself out to
blend in. Slip by.
You don't realize
you should be mourning.
You go on.
You do,
while pain puddles in shadows.
It's life.
It waits.
Late nights it's a moth. Or imagined?
Batted away, it talks to your dreams.
Daylight scatters it,
until it doesn't.
It begins to wake with you
Wake you
Walk with you
You should have been mourning,
but you missed it.
Until the pieces were gone,
And you can't understand how you didn't know.

andrea hill