Your (once "my") Solace

Holes,

Small ones, almost pinpricks,

Dot fragile forms and 

Ghost lights.

Here, a short laugh

Bites your ears

-sits on your lungs all day.

But you

-one who used to live alone-

See a solace of sorts

In the siphoning of cycles

(The ones where I pretend nothing has changed)

Seasons seasons seasons

Our proverbial hearts go with them

Mine was summer;

Your's was winter

But actions (not time)

Make all the difference