sonder

There is a sadness that lingers here

Like a subtle, anxious ghost

nuanced in the way that’s hard to place

going to work every day

 to ultimately end up in the same state at the end of every week.

As if committing to a series of renditions

As though every day is some dress rehearsal

That prepares for an act in some absurdist play.

The cold waits, like a persistent intruder

Pouring in through any orifice,

numbing in a way that has denied sensation

devoid of sentiment

as if to ruminate on that which we don’t have

unable to feel something that seems like it should have been

as if a phantom limb of undeveloped potential
erodes the soul with every missed opportunity 

it comes like a restlessness

the loudness of an empty place

that stays hands in an empathic weight

in a paralysis of observation

that captivates and debilitates in a singular gesture
effortlessly trespassing meaningless borders
to give a semblance of identity 
as if loneliness is a creeping fog 

that ebbs out the landscape of our desires.