A ripple in a calm lake,
My almost constant headache,
Almost because it's only when we talk,
via Facebook,
And few words spoken,
Eye to eye,
Headache,
Because I almost pull my hair out,
From her lack of words of her own,
While I ramble on,
Like this poem,
A foreign country,
But somehow feels like my bed,
Same butterfly-printed blankets,
White linen sheets,
And purple pillow,
A brown-eyed girl.