The Pure, Simple, Truth.

The Third.

The third.

Two thirds of me,

Are close everyday,

The other missing,

It lives your way.

I saw it two days ago,

Now it seems afar,

My hands can’t reach it,

In my way stands a bar.

In your presence I smile,

I am me,

You bring out the best,

Give life to everything I want to be.

Within its weekly return,

Its all I can do not to dance,

But Its seemingly pushing me away,

And removing my chance.

I can’t form the words,

To ask for the reality,

Truth is, what I’m afraid of,

Is the finality.

The two thirds close,

Are not who I am,

The last third is real,

The rest are pure sham.

To the last third,

I beg you please stay,

Tell me where we’re going wrong,

Then I’ll know what to say.

Too many mistakes,

I wish I could treat,

Perhaps I care too much,

Though this I can’t beat.

If I could speak,

If you’d give me the time,

I’ll tell you my worries,

Tell you I’m not fine.

I saw it two days ago,

Now it couldn’t seem further away,

leaving me lost to thought,

perhaps it doesn’t give a damn anyway.

Two thirds of me,

Are close everyday,

To the other I’ll beg,

Please walk my way.