I.

Sometimes, 
d’you wish
you had that person,
nagging, picking,
breathing down your neck
‘how was your day?’
 
It always was ‘fine’,
when you were around,
no lyrics,
no grief to speak of;
that one of me
as carefree –
 
and even when it’s not
the speaking of it makes it – hot –
it riles,
bothers,
irrelevant smothers,
 
but now I’m a git,
I want both good sides of it:
no one knew where I was today,
and not that I ever wanted to say,
but no one knowing that is…
weird,
Unendeared.
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