Some days
I walk around seemingly happy
I can look you straight in the eyes
and fake my smile
all so you don't worry.
Some days I can tell you
that I am good, that all is well.
Some days I can handle this.
I can accept waiting
and wishing for you...
and then some days
my world goes dark and quiet
with nothing to occupy this
busy mind, these constant thoughts of you.
Some days I can't put down this pen
my hand forever moves against the page
forming all the words you see
and everything I could never say.
Some days
I consider burning this book
so you could never read it
and then I remember why I don't.
It's because some days,
most days,
I desperately wish you would.
