Distance,
Drifting away
Drifting apart,
It's something I feel deeply,
Something I've felt so often,
That the absence of absence
Makes me feel skittish.

And maybe it's just
Me.

People come
And people go.

They drift in and out of my life
As though I'm a rest stop
For busy travelers
On busy journeys
That I may never
Be a part of.

And though I give them a chance to close
Their strained eyes,
And a chance to rest
Their weary heads,
When they awake
They always expect more comfort.

But I was not made
To make them comfortable.
I was not born
To please.

And when I decide
I would like to start my journey,
They go.
It's too much trouble.

I'm too much trouble.

The absence of absence
Leaves me anxiously pacing,
Panic-stricken,
Ringing my hands together,
Waiting for it to all
Come falling down.

But this absence
Is killing me.