Crack in the Wall

“This is nothing.”
I’ll keep telling myself under my breath,
hoping that repetition will forge belief.
I know it’s not true, though,
my manufactured assurance.
The light from the monitor,
the tap of keystrokes,
the hum of electricity in the walls
of an otherwise silent house.
These are real, my calm is not.
Some turmoil has been brought
upon my mind’s waters,
usually so still and clear:
the manifestation of an ache
I have long refused to feel.
Reminding myself how good life is,
and how fortunate I am,
I’ve crushed the justification
for what I see as weakness.
I’m beginning to think, though,
that to feel lonely while not alone,
to remember and regret,
and to have so much, yet still yearn
are pieces of humanity.
So, tonight I hurt with no reason,
but you’ll hear no apology.
I only wait, and hope to believe soon,
“This is nothing.”