The loneliness was a person
Sometimes, the loneliness was a living breathing person,
He was the warm body beside me,
I would curl into him,
Stroke his chest, in rhythmic circles,
because the rhythm lulls me to sleep.
My eyes would drift close,
sleep would take over, and I would let it.
I would let it take me on a tranquil journey
while in his arms
He would pull me closer,
squeeze tight, just the right amount,
And he would fall asleep too,
probably to the rhythm of my heartbeat.
The loneliness was a person,
And he comforted me,
And made me sad.
Made me feel less lonely
And amplified my loneliness.
Made me ache,
Also made me write this.
May the nocturnals be our friends,
a ghostly companion through the dark night.
May we bathe in the reprieve that only the night can give,
and finally, be at peace.
albeit, just for the night,
let us lay the voices to rest,
and let that which reigns, be peace,
in the space that is our mind.
may we be lost in the relieve of the night,
where oblivion becomes us.
and the day and all that comes with it,
Poems © Mojisola T.
Image by Cdd20 from Pixabay