Much like mud on a damp day,
I change.
Sometimes I stare at blank walls,
Wishing for a word
Stronger than “like”
But
Weaker than “love”.
Other times,
More often than what’s good for me
(or you)
I gaze into darkness.
Craving,
For a word
Stronger than "dislike"
Yet
Weaker than "hate".
When thumbs twiddle together,
It’s uneasily beautiful.
On occasion,
I’ve thrown my grinning smile back in the mirror
With disgust
And fervor;
Screaming at myself.
For I
Have done absolutely
Everything,
And
Nothing
To be punished with such a blessing.
Throughout my existence,
I’ve learned
That stitches,
Are bound to come loose
All at the wrong times.
How tragic it is to miss someone,
How wonderful it is to have someone to miss.