There’s frustration here,
Tucked in the stitches of sadness.
Folded in to the hems of hasitation,
Sewn into the armscye of apprehension.
There was once a time when
You would speak to me
And mean what you said.
It is all so ambiguous, now,
So nebulous.
I am making assumptions where
I ought to be making connections.
I am holding my breath when
I ought to be losing it.
I am looking for understanding when
I ought to be seeing it.
I do not know where you went as
I do not know where you came from.
I do not know how to be rid of you.
Without losing you completely.
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