I miss you is a pointless exercise
a murmur in the Sahara,
swallowed by endless sands

I can't carve myself into something you'd miss.

I love you is a sandstorm—
turbulent, scorching,
a fury that never seems to settle

I have no idea how to be something you'd love.

And I don't think I want to try
anymore.

I don't want to bend and break
under the weight of
your
sandstorm