These days
are lying in bed
until the feeling passes,
walking with you,
half listening,
constantly searching
for a moment
I can ******,
for a chance to
tell you,
to try to tell you.

These days
are using
earbuds and novels
like an invisibility cloak,
or rather an attempt
to drown it all out.

These days
I'd rather be
alone in a group.

These days
I cling to your
every word
and I apologize
for all of mine.

These days
I don't know
what I want
or who I am
but I'm sorry.