It turns out that the place you did not believe in
was the chilly place
where winter could no longer be held back
was the quiet place
where you can wait and wait and wait
and realize that whatever it is
you have to get it yourself
was the place where you begin to become the same color as the
background
and people forget your name
except on holidays when remembrance is mandated and paid for
in phrases used again and again
the beginning with your name written in
and the ending with a hasty scrawl
that needs the return address to be deciphered
when there is not enough time
and you suspect there never will be
when you find out that the incline is downwards
and it's only grace it its angle