I call for you
a soft voice warms me;
I’m no longer alone.
A fragile connection,
shattered by a vague press
anxiety calls me.
I babble on
to myself,
avoiding the faces in the dark,
and those in the light,
watching me.
constellations, a million miles away,
judge me incessantly,
yet you weave them into shapes,
a sharp comfort in chaos.