Here I sit, collecting sunsets
while you are away from me.
I dissolve my silly regrets
in steaming mugs of tea.

I’d miss you more, I think
if it weren’t for the playful sea.
The waves tease me with a wink –
I’m easily distracted, you see.

The weather has been great,
these days I’m almost happy.
So I enjoy myself while I wait
for you to come back to me.

I hate this feeling.
This wake up from a good dream in a bad mood feeling.
This you'll never be better than the foot you shot yourself in feeling.
This gnawing loneliness, teased by your brain feeling.
This dream and reality are as far apart as your imagination and your imagination is nothing if not endless feeling.
This ruins the day before it even begins feeling.
This if I knew how to cry I'm afraid of what the waterworks might give life to feeling.
This silent, silken feeling.
I hate this feeling.

I dream about how we would conquer jungle gyms and grocery stores.
Anything, an adventure in how not to grow up and instead grow in.
It hurts to wake.

Does this ever happen to you?
You get into a messy, ugly fight,
but you lose steam about half way through
when you realize you’re the one who’s wrong.
Now, you want to stop arguing; you really do.
But for some idiotic ineffable reason
your mouth won’t do what your brain tells it to.
So you keep spouting nonsense with all your might
and continue to quarrel without a clue.

You will want to tell her everything
And you will
But it will be in wordless ways
Passing by, just below the surface
Shallow enough to be just audible
Deep enough to be confused for something else
Faint enough to live in the time between blinks
Real enough, but never quite real enough