When the light

fades

it happens

unexpectedly.

Seeping out

of

a tiny hole

I seem to have

left

unplugged,

in error.

Although,

is anything ever

truly done

in error?

Or is it simply

the self

making room

for expansion?

Sometimes for

oneself,

and oftentimes

for another.

Leaving room

and holding 

space

for disappointment,

for unrequited

expectations,

for loss

or even that

uncomfortable

not-fully-formed

uncertain place

where the

patina is patchy

and the ambient

sorrow

persists.

~Lu