Simulacrum

I wrote once that your slow and quiet ways drift around me like smoke. I saved it in my journal, in my mind, for months. I let that smoke billow around me, let it fog up the windows until I couldn't see out.

Now I know the view that was blocked, and I'm pushing back against the smog. I will not be denied the sun. I will not accept that pale, ghosted version of what used to be.

I hope you know it's for both our sakes.