I hurt every time I think of you, and it won't leave until I do.

So, here's goodbye to a happy end, and
hello to a new me as I again begin.

A reinvention of a completed self.

Starting over as I wipe the shelves clear of the dust that once was you.
As it floats away, I do, too.

I'm still around and act in life—
intermingle, but speak in strife.

They talk to someone who isn't there—
if they only knew when and where.

A second entity acts as me while I sit back and long to be
all the things you hope to find;
I can be those in my mind.

The shell I use is less than able,
an inadequate front that isn't stable.

Yet, it protects me from other forms.

Though theirs are dry, they are the norm.

A normal one I long to be, because they have eyes that let them see,
and that enables rank to follow:
accepted, sacrificed, and hollow.

I can't decide which route to go.

The outcome of each I think I know.

To stay in this I still have hope,
to part from this I tie my rope.

I was looking through a bunch of papers and I found this poem that I wrote a while back. Nothing special at all, but it tells of my feelings during a certain time.