Now I can’t hope against all odds,
as all has been. We just go on now.
Me in my life, and so do you in yours.
I don’t know why, but we just do our things.
I’m learning how to live a no hope life.
Sometimes a book page has your coffee stain
and more signs that remain of what we had
are in my head, only to come out when I’m alone.
You seem to be doing alright, I’m told.
Maybe I would feel better if you were
miserable too. Your coffee stains and me
are fading lunatics, they some more than me.