In response to Ghosted.

Some days we lose ourselves in quiet;
we dwell in a mist of hours, then dissipate
into the space between us, over time.

You are always taller than I remember--not quite
the five-year-old with the still, solemn face.
These days, I lose you in another quiet.

You ask how I’m doing and I say I’m fine,
really, and so do you. We regurgitate,
each going through the paces in perfect time.

I stop asking about school, afraid a lie
will fog the glass. Sometimes I hate
how, these days, we lose ourselves in quiet.

I lose you between cities. Tomorrow I’ll find
a reason to call you, really. Just to say
I miss you, where are you, do you have time…?

because today you are dissolving (your eyes,
a gesture I love), and I dissolve the same.
Someday we’ll lose ourselves in quiet.
We’ll lose all trace of each other, given time.