I’m not sure where I’m going with this
Or even where I’m coming from.
These words don’t substitute
For a real conversation
Don’t look me in the eyes
Or even criticize
All they can do
Is speak for me
Not to me
Or with me
They accept me, no questions
They listen, but don’t respond
A passive drunk
A silent friend
But not someone who cares
Not someone who loves
Not a someone at all.
Books and words
Read and said
Aren’t the same as a human hand,
Can’t compare with a hug or kiss.
They are always there, although
I want someone who won’t be
I know they’re there
Because they want to be,
Not because they have no choice
Not because they feel they must.
Words are exchanged
Instead of read
Problems worked through
Instead of written
History created
Instead of researched
I’m just rambling
Instead of conversing
I wish you were listening
Instead of reading.
Sometimes…
A book can’t replace
A place in your life
Where a friend should be
On the shelf in you heart
Reading about life
Isn’t living it…
