When every thing's not real;

I'm a door flung open wide.

Sure, come in.

Take until you're heart's content.

No one's stopping you.

And neither am I.

Sit in the silence.

I haven't much to offer.

My bed sheets are worn.

And the conversation lacking.

A blank stare.

Have we lost it all?

I burden my memory for it,

For the substance.

It doesn't exist.

And then, a thought.

It never did.

I never allowed it.

Reality is this;

I'm the chain used to secure the deadbolt.

Chipped teacups, heavy curtains.

New start, old ways.

Salty tears, mid-night distractions.

Old habits, new locations.

Drunk baths, slippery sheets.

New tastes, old feelings.

The new is old, and the old is new.

I just happened to realize a day too late.