Almost There

Those terrible dreams about you
have stopped—miraculously—since I
started writing more about you.
Funny to think of it like that, but
it’s the honest truth.

It’s better this way, I think. I hope
when there is nothing more to
write about you,
when this season is separate
and distant-seeming,
the spark I have now isn’t lost
or anything.

We do cycle in season
like that, anyways.
Think what you’d like,
but I’m convinced of it.
Isn’t that what’s so beautiful about life?

 

—N.A.

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