Absence from Those We Love is Self from Self-

I have immortal longings in me.

It was once.

But we fought like an old married couple who had been through way too much and stayed because we didn't know any other way.

It was once.

And we were enthralled with each other, shocked at this glimpse of what might be, stretched out in the back seat of your Escalade.

It was once.

Gone our own ways, lives keeping us where we have to be, not want to be, oh not ever where we want to be. Not ever.

And lucky number seven doesn't feel lucky, rolled by strangers' hands.
Should be. Would be.
Could be.
We could be. We are not.
Your shirt brushes my calves. That and a question mark are all I have.

* Title and line 1 from William Shakespeare.