Maybe.
Not a true knowledge of being,
not a hope on going to be,
not being to be, undeniable.
Ask me to try it harder,
to have a brilliant chance,
again, on my own, raised up.
May be,
getting a fair assessment,
your true and still unknown ubiquity,
being and sharing time,
our time.
Maybe.
Sometimes I really miss you,
and you fathom how much,
no doubt.
It’s not a feeling, it’s a fact,
a believable moment in my live
when I notice you are not near,
and I simply miss you.
Nothing more,
no intention to get attention,
a smile, yours,
just an evidence
of the fallacious lives we are living.
I can understand it’s not easy,
to many lives to live,
and I’m not living them but
maybe I can aspire to be,
sometime, maybe.
