I’m not sure how much longer I can take it here with all of the uncertainty.
Questions leave marks in my mind as much as they do on pages that I cant seem to finish writing to you.
Everything made so much sense once,
Now it is an ellipsis,
A series of dots finishing out the sentences instead of full stops.
I have a hard time formulating any ideas, especially ideas of you.
What exists is what was, not what will be.
It’s frustrating I can’t create you,
That I can’t make you say things you’re incapable of saying.
I just wish certain things had closure,
Or maybe never opened at all.