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I have no great love to regret,
no great loss to mourn,
just a nothing with this coffee
and me, someone to scorn.

I have so much to live for,
so much to appreciate and hold,
but, silly me, greedy me,
somehow this is getting old.

Why can't I find that feeling again?
I can't love again the way I loved you
or feel words glide off my fingers,
the way they used to, just for you.

There's something absent, unbalanced in me;
it's unidentifiable, mysterious, bizarre,
but I know where it's gone and why so:
it's disappeared to where my feelings are.

I find myself feeling disabled now,
cut off, separated, from this cable
that I used to run with, attached,
and I'm so uneven, shakily unstable.

I have no true love to reminisce,
nor a mistake I wish to erase,
just the quiet ticking of a clock
and the need to fill your space.