I wish I could believe you,
But I worry that sincerity cannot cross oceans.
And you can’t pack it up,
And send it home to me.

I wish I could keep my cheeks dry,
But I’m withering and wilting
And my eyes insist on self-watering.

I wish I knew how to tell you
That my lungs are stuck in my throat
And my eyes are swollen and sore,
Without it sounding like an accusation.

I wish that your absence
Wasn’t accompanied by heartache,
But I feel sick with desperation.

I wish you needed me
Even half as much as I need you,
But I’m as indispensable as an inkless pen.

I wish that my suffering
Mattered more to you than this expedition,
But I suppose that my suffering is steadfast
And no longer notable.

I wish you’d come home
I wish you’d never left
I wish you’d never leave again.