The pitter patter on the glass suggests the kind of day, poetic really in its portrayal of my mood.
Days to weeks then months, but still consciousness each day begins with you.
All around me roam suggestions of your form, hints of your smell, whispers of your voice and the lingering of your words.
I dress in a daze; sip coffee in a trance.
But as I step out of my space into the world, I put on the smile and hide behind the lies that everyone wants to hear.

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