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Four long hours of uncomfortable
silence, I have not left yet
but I miss you already.

There are a thousand words
that I could remember you by:
I'd chase after you,
I'd call out to you,
But I don't know your name.

Walking back to you
might be the hardest thing
that I could do. But
what could I say?
Would silence be enough?

(Inspired by "Lost in translation. Good job, Sofia.)

"Perfection of self is the highest philosophy, one which most will never aspire to, nor admit to if they had." -Anon.

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