I think sometimes I miss you.
Rarely, on occasion, because
It’s hard to admit,
But once in a while I miss you a little bit of a whole lot.
When I hear your name in conversation it’s easy to brush off
But harder to bury when I’m alone.
Sometimes I’m prepared to miss you.
But I can’t.
For some reason the timing’s not right,
I can’t will myself to cry,
So I choke it down and switch to internal bleeding for a while.
When I’m ready, I miss you.
When I’m not, I miss missing you.