Another untitled loss poem.

I waited up for you again,
Another night. You never came
To brush away the tears, and I
So seldom cry

but that's a lie I have to tell.
I've tried, and learned, to hide it well,
To push aside the pain and fear.
You're still not here

to pull me near and comfort me,
And that's how it will always be.
I can't take back a single day,
And that's the way

it is, they say. Perhaps it's true.
They tell me what I ought to do:
It's time to shed these grievances.
Perhaps it is.

Perhaps it is.