Smoke

I reach for you

and my fingers pass through the air,

like smoke, since your presence

is no longer there.

Hesitant to type out the words,

my fingers hover over the keys.

They're on the tip of my tongue,

yet the thought of admitting them makes me freeze.

There's so much I want to say,

but you never have the time.

So I sit here and read,

and think up little rhymes.

My heart feels a bit empty,

after the lack of care you've shown.

It's okay, this is a part of life;

You do you and live your own.

It's okay, I'll be alright,

maybe this is fate.

For what we want, will eventually arrive

and will never show up late.