she sits and she stares
as the sun burns the sky
as her throat burns with
tears she refuses to shed
she's alone as the clocks tick
with those all around her asleep

she sits and she sips
from a cup on the bookshelf
content to pretend
she has it under control
but she doesn't
you can see it
in the heave of her chest
in the twitch of her fingers

her mouth says she's happy
it has her convinced that she
can continue to live as she is
caught up in being better
forgetting how to simply just be

the hollow ache in her chest tells
a different story, but only to her
she's begging for love, to love
and be loved as much as she can
because she's sure she doesn't
deserve any love at all

she sits and she stares
and she types and she cries
and she dreams and she aches
and she closes the window
and the streetlights come on
and she convinces herself
she's not lonely

oh no, she's not lonely at all

she sits and she stares
as her life flashes by
backlit by the soft blue
glow of a television
she's alone at dinnertime
determined to wait out her hunger

she sits and she sips
from a glass on the table
content to pretend
that she's not lonely
but she is
you can see it
in the set of her shoulders
the sigh in her chest

her mouth says she's happy
and it has her convinced
that he's all she needs
and all she ever will need

but the hollow beats of her heart
are begging for love
to come fill the space she's created
by pushing everyone else away

she sits and she stares
and she thinks and she dreams
and she laughs and she cries
and she switches the channels
and the streetlights come on
and she convinces herself that
she's not lonely

oh no, she's not lonely at all

where do you go
when you go away from me?
when your eyes are staring
full of something i can't name
what is it you're seeing?

where does your head go
when your mind wanders
and your eyes unfocus?
where does your heart go
in those quiet moments?

where do you go
what are you seeing
where is it you're at
where it takes so much effort
to come back to me?

i wrote you a letter
you never said
whether you got it or not
you never wrote back

it wasn't an important letter
it didn't divulge the secrets
of the known universe
it wasn't philosphic

it was just a little
slice of me sent to you
it held no secrets
only sentiments

but you never answered
never acknowleged its
arrival, never returned
any of yourself to me

it's silly of me, i know
to write you all these letters
to pour myself out
and mail it to you

it's sillier still to be
surprised when each day
passes and there's nothing
for me in the mail

i see the bandaids on your fingers
and i can't help but wonder
what wounds heal beneath them
it makes me want to know you more
to unravel those tiny mysteries
and allow them to create the bigger
mysteries that encompass who you are
what do you wish for on shooting stars?
that scar, on your shoulder, how'd it get there?
and when you're sitting outside, in the sunshine,
smiling quietly, what are you thinking of?
but i'll start with the bandaids, peel them back
kiss the cut and hold your hand tenderly in mine.
that cut, there on your finger, what happened there?