United States
United States

Your lips twitch, almost a smile

Before the mask slips into place

Stoic and as strange as before

Trying to so hard to be what they want

To be anything but yourself

But liitle things shine through

Like laughter in your eyes

And that twitch of your lips

The way your fingers play chords,

Something that could pass as a fidget,

when distracted or upset.

It gives me hope

That you are not lost

But still I miss you

Even as you stand before me

More stoic and stranger than before

Until the mask slips from your face

And your lips twitch, almost a smile.


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