I’ve stumbled upon a familiar pain.
While previously distant,
it’s become an intimate friend.

I’ve wished things were different
on every shooting star and every
11:11 clock reading.

Foolish games, I suppose —
the acts of a child in distress
trying to find peace
in the hypothetical-verse.

Yet, I watched the clock tonight
and did the same thing.

I knew it would change nothing;
you are you,
and I am me.

We are worlds apart
when all I want is to hold you.

We are not a ‘we’ now,
even though I long to be.

We were short — fleeting.
A beginning that never began.

I didn’t think it would end,
but I guess that’s what happens
when someone puts on an act.

The show ends, the players bow,
and the theatre empties.

Only, I am left in my seat,
laden with anguish,
forgotten.

I hear the doors lock,
and the aching in my head
reverberates through the room.