I woke up sad today.
Gently, I asked myself,
"Why?"
And my mind, responding,
showed me the dreams that, for once,
were a direct reflection of what had happened
the night before.
I'd glanced at your fridge, noticing,
not for the first time, the absence of
anything related to me,
and the presence of the past,
as if, somehow, the past had become,
once again,
more important than I.
But it's not my place to make those assumptions.
And you noticed my glance, maybe thinking
it was the first time I'd seen it.
Again, not my place.
My best guess for this would not be a matter
of importance, but, as usual,
a matter of ***-for-tat.
As if I made the decision to set
that bridge aflame.
I didn't.
And I refuse to make amends,
once and time and time again,
for something I hold no responsibility for.

I woke up sad today.
I examined it carefully over my morning
cereal and coffee,
accepted it,
and went on to have a semi-productive day.
And it's still here, this sadness.
And as usual, as it's mostly always been,
there is nobody to talk to.
My only comfort is a pen and paper.
Of course.
I ask myself,
"How could you open up to people?"
Not long ago I was described as emotionless.
Because, I guess, I don't openly express
my emotions,
but how could I?
Nobody has any interest in knowing me beyond
what I show them,
and that's ok,
but I wish people wouldn't assume
invisible means non-existent.

I woke up sad today.
I can't figure out if
I am guilty of seeking to be understood
before understanding,
or if others are guilty of it.
The result is the same, of course.
But I can only change myself.
And there are already steps in place
to create this change,
I could never be accused of not trying,
but self-improvement doesn't seem to end.
I'm content with myself,
but I'm still lonely.
And as usual, I'm wallowing.

I woke up missing a friend.