Before Sunrise

there lies a deep, bitter pit in my stomach. it is unrelenting in its torment. i feel it in the darkness of my bedroom when it twists me up into a ball and keeps my eyes peeled open. i feel it before my turn to speak, all the words i rehearsed haphazardly tripping off my tongue. i feel it through to my fingertips when they struggle to meld with yours. i feel as though this pit will never leave me, only subsiding when it no longer needs to feed off of me. i feel it melt away when i walk home at 5am, the air humid and fresh and dewy, the mourning doves greeting one another. i forget it exists when your hand or a glass of wine takes its place, warm and uninhibited. it seeps deep down when two strangers glance at each other unknowingly, feel the opposing stare and look away, fall in love for a night. it finds its way to the surface again once they part — does anything good ever last?