The problem I find with life and living as such,
Is not that I miss you at all - but, oh-so-much.
But, when the night sky is clouded and the stars don't shine,
I feel as though the simulation becomes a crime.
I can no longer assess your essence in melancholy - they don't rhyme,
And, when anticipation of distance between us grows on and on from null,
I realize that we - I and you, can never be together - never at all.
Then, out of desperation
I can't help but sing the song so long,
Tap my feet, move my palm and sing all-so-wrong.
At some point I stop,
Abrupt.
Laugh at myself - over the faded streak.
Who knows? Maybe the corporeity will shine you one last time,
And, I will get to witness your elegance - so sublime,
Maybe then the whatever I'd lost once upon a time I might regain,
And, I won't have to all-so-wrong sing again.
