Who is that over there?That figure in the crowd?
No, it's not.
It's not her.
Perhaps that one?
No, too tall.
She's everywhere,
But she's not even here.
That voice:
I can still hear it,
But only through the phone.
Her smile:
Shining on mine every morn
Is naught but a small photograph.
Someone please wake me.
This can't be real.
Kiss me, please.
Hold me, I beg you.
Call my name.
I want to know that you're here.
We can't be so far apart.
But we are.
You aren't here
Because I am.
This is great. Simple, yet captures the vivid emotion that we feel whenever we aren't able to see someone dear to us. I have often found myself mistaking a certain familiar face for someone I once cared for. That searing sense of detachment ends up being balanced out by a sensation of desire for the familiar. In the face of a fellow bus passenger, a young bicyclist, a small child. Strange phenomena huh?
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