nothing out of the ordinary

Last night,
or the night before,
I felt you.

You too were not ok.

But it's ok, really.

I tried to tell you so,
in my thoughts.

I think you got it.

It was the first time
since the bloody Sunday
I did not hate you.

I never hated you -
I was just not aware of it.

I was lying in bed,
waiting for the sleep to come;
you came instead.

It was probably the first time
since that bloody Sunday
you felt guilty.

But you always did, I'm sure -
you were just not aware of it.

I told you it was ok.

It is really ok.

It's nothing out of the ordinary.