The man that you're not.

a short poem.

As long as there’s a line,
A call, a text, a knock,
My heart will hope.

It’s killing the light
That I once held.

I’m losing myself
In the thought of someone else.

“Focus on yourself” they say,
But I can’t.

Sometimes I think my life was made
For someone else.

Identity is a fickle thing,
and it whisks away
like a whisper in the wind.

Love does that,
Makes you forget
And now the last toilet roll is mocking me.

Another day goes by, and I’m hoping you forgot to call or text or knock.

I’m plagued by the idea of
The man that you’re not.