lonely.

That deep lonely that hops on my back and demands a piggy back ride to anywhere I go.
That strokes my cheek, as a soft reminder, when I’m surrounded by people.
Like that annoying humming in your ear, that comes out of nowhere and becomes louder than any sound in a room.

It shoves me when I try to stand still
And holds me down when I try to walk.
It holds my hand from the passenger side of my car and sometimes talks me into missing my exit, and driving 20 minutes past my house.

It mockingly makes a list of all the women I’ve let go of in my juvenile tantrums, and the ones who let go of me.
It waves it in my face.
It says, why are you still driving? It says, where are you even going?

It catches in my throat when I say that I am happy.
It looks like you.
It looks like all the mistakes I’ve made.
It looks like running.
It looks like following a girl to places I didn’t belong.

I looks like not being enough for myself.