Sunday morning
Sitting at the edge of my bed
Hands fold in my lap
and then covering my eyes
Like the rain outside my tears fall into my lap
On to my notebook
Smudging my words like twisted memories
I want to understand
I want to see things through your eyes
but you won’t tell me your feelings
You won’t let me see
I’ve become blind to your heart
The cold breeze caressing the window still seems warmer than your touch
That touch that never finds its way to me
You never reach for me and my arms are tired from reaching for you
I can’t stand still forever
Waiting for you to see me
Hopelessly waiting for December
Like a child at Christmas
Like dreams that have frozen
In the silence of falling snow
