It’s my absence that should bother you. The lack of warmth in my vibe when you throw words at me. The I could care less in my want of you.
It’s my presence in the present. The where am I, In your now, that speaks volumes to the truth of you. The do with or without in my need in you.
It’s my surface that you’ve visited. The delusion in your reality, that whispers familiar throughout your brain cells. The space of least resistance.
It’s the insult of who’s in front me. The hurt that aches my core. It’s setting Stranger as my default, just so I can love you, over and over again.
It’s the price of the least known.