With you , yet lonely

 

The pain of not telling you of
The many ways I admire you,
Zillions of thoughts float,
Each longing to stay a bit more.

The yearning for your touch
The memory  of your breath,
The feeling of having you beside
The hope of seeing you grow old.

The pain of not having time
To ponder on such thoughts,
Many such words while away,
Waiting for their chance to be heard.

Countless mornings spent being busy
With chores that don't matter
Those endless talks and half-baked jobs
And the scrutiny that follows later.

Yet the pain of the constant loneliness,
That just doesn't agree with quitting its throne,
Rather, it pulls me toward its dark core,
With a larger than-ever force.

Cold nights and quieter evenings,
That expects me to just sit by,
Do nothing, not judge, not care,
But stay surrounded by thick and telling air.