“Hope isn’t found. It’s built.”
As I drift further away,
Letting the gentle tides of time,
Nudge me towards the distant horizon,
There are still moments,
A song, a note, a nondescript sign,
The only measure of time that matters,
Is the number of seconds between now,
and the moment I last saw your face.
I thought I was okay.
I’ve been trying so hard.
But the problem with trying hard is that eventually,
You empty out yourself.
And you have no choice,
But to realize how you’re still not okay.