The flowers once beaten by foot prints,
Now finding life with the rain,
Staring down at the city through stained windows, ever since,
The plague that took over. The suffering, the pain.

It was anticipated, expected, planned. The future foreseen.
Not in a tiny ball perhaps but, it was bound to creep back
This lonely feeling. Every human being,
Falling asleep to the city’s silence. A unison soundtrack.

I miss even a singular touch. Already?
The intimacy of a warm hand. How petty.
Lips rubbing on my back, neck and cheeks.
The memories of physical affection, feels like weeks.

Yet, why do we complain? With such foolishness,
Loneliness sings us a story, the truth. Whispers and secrets.
A sky crying. The crescent moon aligned, stars luminous,
Our eyes scanning for a pleasant presence. Restlessly seeking.

I am all alone,
My sanity in half, its torn.

Melissa Johnson.