Days disappear into weeks. The weeks turn into months. Months become years.

Forgotten are the early mornings when I crawled into your bed. What was once yesterday, I breathed my secrets in your ear.

Dust has become of your bones. Flowers spring from your late beating heart. Here I wait.

Lynn Marie Lostumo spends her days doing dishes, laundry, and vacuuming. She’d rather be writing, knitting, and finishing her degree.