Had It Coming

I wake at four from how cold the wind sweeping across me. Pull the poetry book out of the window, the rain and years have worn it down, it won't last the generation but how reliable it has been all these years. I bought it in that bookstore, on the 3rd floor, sat on the carpet in the back thumbing through pages like presents before finally buying it and I've carried it with me everywhere since.

Anyway the point is I fell back asleep, dreamed strange dreams of quarantine life, woke with a dry throat but a glad heart, the point is we are still alive to see another day and sometimes that's all we can ask.

Anyway,
the point is,
I miss you.