Thirst

It sucks that I can’t speak with you
and it’s not due to a lack of want,
it’s the distance between how much you hate
me and how much I still love
your silliness.

I can’t stand the fact that you still embrace
me in my dreams and I wake up in a cold
sweat thinking that I had you
for just a fragment of a second,
so short that no clock in this universe could record its brevity.

These are the things that shadow me from the others
who smile under the moon as they hold hands
walking through an oasis of promise
and I,
stranded here,
suffering from dehydration in my endless desert,
hoping for a sign,
even a mirage.