Why can’t they see
That I am unable to meditate here?
Between the dew on the grass and the thick aloe plants
My compass fails me
She’s leaving again, He’s leaving again
Why do they always have to go?
I try to hold in the sadness
Though it reflects in puddles at my feet
And it freezes with the snow, into sleet
And sometimes I awake from my slumber
Drenched in nervous sweat
Trickling down my cheeks
Never lost, but mostly misplaced
My longing thoughts do not easily precipitate
For the vapor stays, contributing to the tributary of my tears
Why can’t they see that we’re a little bit more broken every time they leave?
And how is it that they do not notice the tears on my sleeve?