My hands shake
My hands touch
My hands retreat
My smile waxes
Pushes my cheeks against my ears
My eyes narrow
There is no feeling on earth worse than a slowly fading smile
When the heat behind my eyes blisters then rescinds
Like a disgruntled worker
Who has just landed a better job
My mind wanders to thoughts of you
How things have changed
My hands become numb
My smile wanes
My hands are as cold as your eyes
My face is as broken as my will
I�ve called a search party for my motivation
While tasks and to-do lists pile like books in a library
My world and my desktop are cluttered
Christmas cards from old friends, empty bottles of root beer, voided checks
Memories of more uplifting experiences, journals of feelings I forgot to mention
Volumes of poetry and doubts
Generations of squandered time
Books I�ve skimmed
Lives I�ve accidentally exited
My hand inches towards a pen
Attempts to write a note
To tell someone something I know must be told
But my hand retreats
And I rest my cheek on my fist
And stare down at my feet.
[Back to the Station]