post bliss

is there not a single moment of joy not cut by the bitterness
a sour milk taste of fear that lingers as an aftertaste
you were here, then gone,
giddy to come, giddy to go,
and I was some inbetween place, some stopping point
along your life,
the happiest year of your life.
it will be a year soon. two months from now.
a year
did i change so much?
I've never eaten so much bacon, drank so much beer.
But I've felt this alone, many times.
I've felt this abandonned.
Why did I not learn in all those years to stand
on my own two feet.
Or maybe I did
and my natural state is just
despondent and self-pitying,
sad and longing.
I can't remember a 24 hour stretch in the
365 days in which I was happy nonstop.
But there are those that are sad.
It must be some kind of gravitational pull that draws me
in.