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The Mournings
Every now and then
I get the urge to look you up,
my old friend
I try to imagine all you would
tell me about her
how happy she makes you
how this life fits you so right
my emotions are lost in the storm
I find I get resentful,
if I’m to be honest with myself,
that so many others have flitted their way
back in to your life
but there is no shape and no room for
me to fit right back in too
I miss the ease of understanding
your-self and my-self
I miss your laugh and hugs and wise introspection
it always helped to remind me of who I once was
when I was a much better me
therein lies the irony so true
my low self esteem dictates that
if that weren’t the case I’d be good enough for you
but it’s not about being good enough
it’s about desiring the authenticity in the mess
in the mess of my storms
