The somber sky
remains the same shade of gray
until it opens its eyes and weeps itself into a near-black.
on and on
the same sleepy song.
It’s like a broken record or some other fixed cliche we spout
because it’s easier to tell people what we feel like instead of how we feel,
which is, uh, to say, um, that I guess I want you so desperately I can’t think of anything else.
I wish you had taken these feelings with you when you left, but I guess that’s my baggage, not yours, and I’ll just have to carry on.
Pffft! The metaphor is easier than dealing with the truth that I love you and I can’t have you and I hate that I never told you or showed you or had I don’t know – something, anything to say other than goodbye and good luck – because this is super-hard, and Arrgh! I wasn’t ready, even though I knew it was coming because people leave – they always do, so… yeah.
I feel like a I miss you.