I'm a different kind of lonely when you're not here
When everything I touch seems to miss you too
And we all just sit around in our collective grief
Books aren't supposed to miss people
My guess is that if books had feelings at all
Then really they would just want someone to pick
Them up and hold them
I can sympathise with books
If doors could talk they wouldn't ask where the
Hell we'd been when we got home late
They'd say that they just want to keep us safe and
Maybe try to keep out the cold
I wish I was still your door
My windows don't miss the times when you'd
Stand with one delicate hand on the glass and gaze
Outside in some quiet reflection
Unaware that I could see your reflection in the glass and was
Wondering,
Desperately trying to conclude
How biology, chemistry and physics
Could possibly have combined to create something
So terrifyingly beautiful.