Here’s a Little Poem for Tuesday Afternoon

You don’t have time for me.

That’s the truth.

You’re just not available. You aren’t around. All day long. All night long. You’re not really there, only to drop a short series of texts, the same series of texts all the time:

“How are you feeling?”

“How did you sleep?”

“Good morning/Good day.”

Sending a response is like dropping a bottle in the ocean. Maybe you’ll pick it up, but probably not.

Maybe you will respond, but probably not.

You tell me you love me plenty. You say you miss me all the time. You state that you need me in your life.

But, I’m not really in your life.

I’m just a book you take periodically off the shelf. Then you put the book back on the shelf, until the next time it occurs to you you need that book.

Then, off the shelf.

Yay.

It’s not enough for me.

There’s no connection between you and I. You are always somewhere else. You are always busy elsewhere, doing other things, for other people, helping out here and helping out there.