Because I refuse despair,
I hold the shirt you never wore
close, in a darkened room,
smelling it, searching for your scent.
But it was never your shirt,
and all the lights are on,
and I’m typing to stave off
a fear I cannot comprehend,
a hope which feels just like despair,
like the sorrow of an unworn shirt
held by arms that may never
hold you.
Rhyd Wildermuth 
I just thought that you’d be interested to know that someone who read this poem after a particularly shitty day has been blinking in the wakeful dark hours, alternately crying and finding comfort and a small quiet joy in this poem for the past couple of hours. Because I am not asleep, I get to be one of the first to read this. Because I have written so much truly awful poetry, I feel like I’ve got a duty to tell you that this is not that. This is wonderful. Such a fine poem to keep company with this night.
Thank you.
Thank you. 🙂
Why would you refuse despair, why would you stave off fear? These things are coming. They Are. They might feel like giants crashing through the landscape. But you are the ground holding them. of course you are also the trees they throw about and the rivers they move with a single muddy footprint. And you are also the sky that arcs above. Be moved. Be thrown. Watch with an unblinking blue eye. Hold it all with your endlessly generous body.