On nights like this I think of him
By nights like this, I mean every other night
And by think of him I mean lament
I mean mourn
I mean smile while I’m doing something else
Smile to myself while I’m showering
and drinking chamomile tea
and playing Animal Crossing
and blinking slowly and cleaning my room
His name is a hum
It’s a song I can’t get out of my head
The rhythm thrums against my brain, tapping on every nerve at all times
I am the pollen of the echinacea
and he is the wind or the bumblebee or the rain or whatever other handsome and lovely thing that shakes me from my core.
Chena Is Home 