It’s hard, I guess.

Everything I do I question,

and everything I question I do.

I just sit here and think

about you

about where we stand.

I wonder,

and think,

and I wait

I wait.

I wait.

I wait

for you to reply,

to figure out my emotions,

to criticize everything I do.

Why am I sitting here doing nothing?

I should be sitting here doing something.

But sometimes I feel trapped,

alone,

afraid,

and so

it’s hard, I guess.