My Problem

 I have a problem and it's you. It's the way you turn summer into winter after you've been sunbathing again. It's the way you watch me, and then watch me watching you until one of us breaks so we don't have to admit that we are in fact, staring. It's the way your voice softens at a compliment as though you feel you don't deserve such a kindness. You're a problem for me, the problem who occupies a space in my dreams now, no matter how hard I try to shove you out of my brain, in the same way, you try to shove me out after you've gotten too close again. Nothing is nothing but somehow after every little nothing, you have to disappear for a while and return with a freezing glare and that closed-off attitude you wear so well. How many times before everyone else begins to notice? Do they notice how sad you are, too? Or do you think you've hidden it all together? Do you think nobody notices? But I can't keep noticing I can't keep having these nothings and this is my problem.