I might exist then, in the eyes of everywhere.

No longer can I count on being so lost

as the soul known to shudder in fear in the 

midst of living through some normalcy.

Tonight I shelved you for the evening with 

an intent to bring you off the ledge later on.

The discussion we might have would reveal

all the insecurities of remembering you at all.

I sometimes wonder what it would be like if

in the moment you were asked to say my name.

What would be the difficulty, or lack of pleasure?

Would just the process be a quiet reminder

of discovering everything about us was a fraud?

I might only imagine my own struggle to regain

some semblance of compassion, same forgiveness.