So many faces, but none of them is you.
You know this feeling of the crowd anonymously many
And the voices I want to Shazam, for none of them is yours.
My plane is late again, and this pain lingers on
Like a foul smell in the air. I wish to be airborne
That I know you’re not a car ride away
That I’d know that I can’t hold you for good reasons
That the sword may go through the heart and kill me
Than linger over my chest like a purgatory leading to hell.
The pain will come, the pain will run as long as I’m not near holding you here, kissing you there, telling you that, whispering this, listening to those, holding you close.
But for now I’m at the gate, and the plane’s late.
I’m looking out the window to where you are, and I can’t go there, I can’t see you here.
So many faces, so many voices but I’m steeped in the silence and absence of you.