In My Worrying, He Slips Away

His face is grey.
I see
the lack of light there.

In the space
that used to fill him up with life
there is only a hollow.

He breathes.
He eats and speaks
and he exists.

His body survives.
He persists.

But he is not there,
not in the way he used to be.

I wonder
if I am fine with that.
I wonder
if my lack of worry
makes it seem as though
I don’t care.

And in my worrying,
he slips away

and is gone beyond
where anyone can see or touch him,

beyond any place
where any words
will do good.

Before I know how to love him,
before I can let myself,
it’s over.

he is gone.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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