I try not to miss you, I was told,
One time, that this would be the way,
That despite, because and, sometimes,
In the name of sod’s law, there would be these
Missing you, oh so, missing you, such days.
I try not to pine for you, it’s awful,
Knowing you are there, but out of reach,
Like, somehow, if I could know where you are living,
I could search and find,
I’d be there, you’d love me and you’d teach.
I try not to wax and wane like moonshine,
To be true to myself and to you,
To be the one, an undivided woman,
Stalwart, faithful, strong,
I try, but I can’t always be so true.
Sometimes I’m unfaithful, I’m a harlot,
I say and do what things I don’t believe,
Or tongue is tied, I’m mute
I miss you, greatly, on some days like these.
I miss you most when words are there but I’m not,
When you’re quietly calling, asking where I am,
And I’m so busy, always busy,
I miss you then, not now, for here I am.
The other side of me is round a corner,
Patient, waiting, crying, while I fear,
I hear her, search in all the different places,
The wrong ones, so it seems,
She’s there, I’m here.
I miss you on the other side of when, if,
In the won’t and can’t and should and did and must,
If you miss me too, then find me,
I’ll be waiting, and still searching, for without you,
When we’re lost, I’m missing and I’m dust.