I’m made of dreams and memories.
I am made of misheard whispers in the dark.
I am made of glances across crowded rooms.
Of the closeness of strangers in a line outside a movie.
I am made of the corners of your mouth.
I am made of awkward elevator rides and the lack of security one finds on a doorstep, at the end of the evening, when one has enjoyed the company of another.
I am made of the train tracks that take me home.
I am made of ghost notes, from songs you never heard.
So forgive my absence. But I was never really here to begin with, anyway.