Coffee Cake

The silence is what I can't ever take because I do not know what to do with it, or because of it. I don't know if you are very busy or done with me or dead in a ditch, and I wonder if this is why my mother calls me fifteen times a day when I don't answer the first time. There is too much room in silence. I wonder what it is you cannot tell me and I want to sit on you until you cry mercy- that is if I knew where to find you- and there is too much room in the wondering, too. Are you a father or terminally ill? Not really married? Not a pilot? Not that into me? Living in a commune in California? I want you to believe I would probably be able to handle and accept almost anything and I wish I could make you tell me because it's holding everything up but then you would feel awkward over the beans spilled too soon and we wouldn't be in a better place at all... so instead I hope you come to a place of being able, and I pray for patience in waiting for you, and for acceptance in the event you have completely gone.

And I keep reminding myself I told you how I feel and meant it, and I told you I wasn't going anywhere and will be here still and meant it. "If you love something, set it free...", no? And so I will try. But in the unexplained silence I miss you and I do hope you will be back around.