I sit on my couch and I stare,

Waiting for it,

Waiting for something that will never come.

The day that one hurt that builds and builds and builds inside

Abruptly crushes itself.

I just stare into my white ceiling.

It blocks my view of the future.

I have but a piece of myself,

But I need another piece;

Another half, another filler, another blocker, another lover,

And that’s my problem.

I go to sleep every night,

Seeing those I have forced myself to love,

Those I used as halves and fillers as blockers as lovers,

And failed.

It’s not hard to conceal.

Nothing is hard.

Everything is easy.

Easy is weak.

Easy is loving when they don’t love you, easy is compassion.

Which is why that won’t change about me.

I am compassionate and that is a weakness.

I will keep chasing and chasing after people so that I can get by,

So I can be my other half, my filler, my blocker, my lover.

I’ll find that person, but until then,

I’ll be waiting.